TES IV: Nothing Like Home
by Shadowfang3000
Summary: "Who dares disturb the Lion's Den?" - Sent on an errand by his contemptible companion, a spurned wanderer from Hammerfell finds himself invited to dinner at the home of a peculiar man and his Argonian wife. What troubles can ensue from his breaking of the norm? A sequel to "Destiny", and the fourth entry in the Elder Scrolls saga!
1. A Chance Meeting

**Nothing Like Home**

**(A/N):** Well bugger me, I never thought it would happen but here it is! At long last my TES series continues, only three months late! xD

Following the rather peculiar and almost supernatural story of the previous installment, I felt that it would be appropriate to return to the roots of the series with a good old chin-wag between a small amount of characters. With that in mind, I saw an opportunity to flesh out a particular pair of cast members that haven't seen much limelight!

Hopefully this tale goes on to show us what it's like for a shy Argonian woman and her Orsimer husband to make it in a cold and harsh world such as Skyrim... That's technically a spoiler, although to be honest it's probably in the future blurb :P

Here we go! I only hope that after such a long hiatus I can still write for this series properly D:

**WARNING:** Spelling errors, mildly inappropriate language, bad jokes, a notable lack of Silent-He-Wonders, too much stuttering, bad attempts at writing strong accents, awkward drama and a moral that goes all over the place!

**Chapter One: A Chance Meeting**

**"Are you sure these are genuine?"**

Wonders looked at his Ra Gardan companion with mock offence, cradling a thick Nordic tankard between his bony digits. **"Come on now."** he slurred, leaning forward in a friendly and diplomatic manner. **"Would **_**I**_** ever lie?"**

Stradlater didn't even pause. **"Yes."**

**"Oi."** the Argonian hissed animalistically, his droopy tongue stabbing out between his jagged rows of teeth as if eager to have a word with the stubborn human ahead. Wonders held his tongue - literally - and returned to his characteristic politician mode. **"I need all of those urgently. You think I'd make up a list like that?"**

**"Well, you **_**are**_** the professional here."** Stradlater admitted, bowing to the magician's superiority. Wonders smirked with self-satisfaction, glad that somebody knew their place. The scaled fellow took a gentle swig from his tankard, its overwhelming burden on his scrawny arms preventing him from taking the triumphant and testosterone-filled glugs that the Nords often showed off with. The charred Redguard shook his head, his bedraggled hair whipping about his cheeks. It was in desperate need of a trim, or a couple of cute bows. He muttered to himself at his choice of companions, **"... **_**Unfortunately**_**."**

It was early in the morning at the _Bannered Mare_. For such a hectic city, Whiterun's taverns were forlornly quiet on at the break of dawn. Save for lone adventurers destined for death and a few patrons here and there, most of the regulars were still cooped in bed with slop buckets close by. No doubt hangovers aplenty weigh on their minds, heavier than their pork and beer-filled guts.

The inseparable pair were seated around the same table they'd always chosen. One with a particularly good view of not only the main counter, but the doorway too. Wonders always seemed to fear the day that a Daedric Prince decided to crash through the entrance and wreck up the place, and insisted that if he saw him in time he could possibly dive for cover or at least use other patrons as meatshields whilst he scarpered for safety. Stradlater slouched over in his seat like a fighter at a boxing ring, feeling like the designated driver for a carriage home.

His snout sniffing around the bottom of his chalice, Wonders pierced the silence. **"Go through it one more time."** he suggested, his voice muffled by whatever material the tankard was made from. **"Need to make sure you can **_**read**_** reliably."** the Argonian added in his usual condescending manner, pulling away with a nose as wet as working girl in the rain. The warrior had always wondered what the darn things were crafted from that made them so heavy and borderline indestructible

_Obsidian?_

_Dragon Bone?_

_Maybe he should've replaced his armour with a set of tankards?_

The chair squeaked as if someone had pinched its derriere as the Redguard leant back, forking around the deep and unending pockets of his baggy desert garb. There must've been corners in the damn things; he could reach down up to his elbow if he had the back for it. **"**_**Slendoor's Legs**_**."** he started when he finally drew the parchment in question, a messy trio of lines scribbled across its face. **"**_**Nyce's Thighs**_**." **he continued, garnering an approving nod from the magician. A Nord on the table adjacent to them with a beard thicker than his skull glanced at them quizzically as if to say "_you mirin'_?", before awkwardly shuffling away much to Stradlater's chagrin. He coughed like a younger sibling walking in on their brother bathing, **"... And **_**Pert's Bottom**_**?"**

**"Yep, that's the ticket."** the Argonian grinned. Although to be fair, his teeth looked the same regardless as to whether he was joyous or peeved. Stradlater glared at him with suspicion, figuring he could read the face of someone he'd been tolerating like rockjoint for years. **"... What? I need them all!"**

Balling the paper in his fist he pushed it back into the woven layers of his robes, returning his weapon hand to its rightful place upon his scimitar's hilt. He always felt strange sitting around without his sword close by. It was like standing in the nude before the Emperor of Cyrodiil and not knowing which bits to cover. **"... You mages sure are obsessed with naming reagents after what you're after in women."**

Wonders nodded, acknowledging his oppressed minority status. He loved to milk it for all its worth, and was glad that people were so easy to fool. **"'Us Mages **_**tend**_** to handle reagents all of the time, not women so much."** he reminded, stressing the word _'tend'_ to distance himself from the masses like the hipster bastard he was. Of course he pulled women all of the time, providing you counted faulty necromantic Thralls with none of the bouncy bits intact. **"You do the math there."**

He thought about it for amount, but that would probably involve imagining bow-legged old men with balls that dangled lower than their wispy beards coming on to medicinal flora and fauna. Surprisingly that was enough to discourage him. **"... I'd rather not."**

**"Come on, it makes sense though doesn't it?" **he insisted, flicking his tankard's rim. It let off a dull clunk, and sent a sharp and wince-inducing pain down his blackened talons. **"You know how people name dogs after things that are important to them?"**

_Was that a trend at the Marsh?_

_What was next, people pouring cold ice over themselves for frostbite funds?_

**"No."** he said honestly, unsheathing his blade by a mere inch before sheathing it once more. Wash, rinse, repeat, to a rather incessant beat.

Wonders reeled back in genuine confusion, taken aback by Stradlater's lack of knowledge. To him this was like finding a Vigilant of Stendarr that wasn't into hot man-on-wolf action. **"... You **_**do**_** know what a dog is, yes?"**

**"Of **_**course**_** I do."** the burnt wanderer grumbled, drawing his blade a little further this time.

_All of a sudden shanking himself seemed like a viable alternative to life in general._

The Argonian fidgeted on his chair, tossing the heavy tankard into the air ever so slightly and catching it in his hand. It sounded much cooler than it actually looked.** "I had a dog once, named her after my mum."** he retold, ignoring the splatter of ale that spread about the premises. He shot a cheeky glance at his companion, who reeled back as if struck by an arrow. Either that or he was caught in the splash zone. **"She was a right **_**bitch**_**."**

Stradlater's jaw unhinged for a moment, the rest of his face remaining absolutely normal. Providing you considered his horrific and puke-inducing scarred face that made him look like a troll's scrotum on an icy day as normal. He just stared at the mage, inaction speaking louder than a thousand curse words.

Eventually the scaly wizard noticed, distracting him enough for the tankard to clatter to the floor and roll away to new lands and new adventures unbeknownst to him. **"... Don't look at me like that, **_**hermit**_**!"** he growled with insult, **"I just woke up!"**

That jogged him from his trance-like reverie. Craning his neck to check his flanks and rear, he soon realised that the magician was talking to him. He pointed at his chest, **"**_**Hermit**_**?"** he echoed, having never heard such a strange and out of context insult in his life. **"Where'd that come from, the **_**moon**_**?"**

**"You've got long unkempt hair, a dirty chin, and you haven't got a job."** he reasoned with logic more flawed than the _White-Gold Concordat_. Wonders reached for where his tankard had been on the table, clutching expectantly at open air. **"Sounds like a hermit to me, **_**hermit**_**."**

There was no point in arguing with imbeciles he reckoned, and he begrudgingly conceded. Realising that he was out of pints, Wonders lazily filched another from the snoozing Breton that sat to his left and the Redguard's right. He could've sworn that the man had been there for several days at the very least. **"... You're drinking at eight in the morning." **Stradlater pointed out as Wonders took a heavy swig, slapping the High Rock native's back in faux good will to avoid a tip. **"What's your plan for today, to get royally pissed and blow all your money away?"**

**"Redguard, Redguard, you know me."** Wonders smiled trustingly, placing a hand on his colleague's shoulder. He patted it gently, fearing the broad and thick muscle would break his fingers if he hit too hard. The magician took another measured swig, somehow managing to speak clearly while he glugged away; yet another gleefully alien trait of the peculiar reptilian race. **"I'd never do something like that. I'll get royally pissed and blow all **_**our**_** money away. Now get to work for me, yeah?"**

Maybe he needed a break from the fool. The pair hadn't really left eachother's side since their arrival at Whiterun, and while the twists and turns of its widely berthed streets became ever more familiar with each and every day it was still nothing like home. They'd stuck together, like school children on a trip abroad, ever since day one.

_Oblivion is eternity trapped with your friends._

_"How can you be friends with that lizard?"_

_That's what Faelindra had said._

Stradlater heaved himself to his feet, feeling like a dangling piece of meat hooked onto the back of a butcher's carriage. Glad that he'd obeyed his wishes, the noble Argonian treated him to a gift straight off his back. With an underhand throw he tossed a coin at him. It was a single golden septim, which the muscular veteran easily caught in a display of honed agility. **"You get me those regents. I can make the **_**perfect**_** cure for hangovers, mark my words." **he briefed, leaning against the table edge. He hoped that a false promise like that would be the perfect motivator for the Redguard since he always sounded like he'd been drinking the night before, with his gravelly, action-hero voice. **"Half in advance, my loyal business partner."**

The Redguard tossed the coin up in his palm, letting the detailed faces spin and twirl. He bowed his head in mock appreciation, a dry smirk tugging at his equally dry lips. **"You were always the generous type."**

**"What can I say?"** Wonders opened his arms like the graceful wings of an eagle, accepting the well-deserved praise of his merit and worth. He returned the bow, the entire morning nothing more than a performance to him. **"Might as well spread a little **_**love**_**, yes?"**

X

_Slendoor's Legs._

_Nyce's Thighs._

_Pert's Bottom._

He'd been given stranger lists, that's for sure. Wonders must've loved having his own personal delivery boy to get him what he wanted, like a loyal pup dragging newspapers from the doorstep to their master's stool. Of course the whole dog analogy lost its steam past that point. He wasn't really the sort who was flexible enough to lick his own testicles and sniff people's arses.

The early risers poured out from their homes like the gutter water that often flooded the damp streets of Whiterun. The city always felt frantic and busy in the morning no matter how low the sun was when you got up. It was the result of hundreds of mothers who thought they'd be the first in line at the biggest stores, and that no one else would have the same idea as them. Tattered dresses dragged across the cobblestones as flocks of women young and old darted from stall to stall with children in tow, where dazed merchants stood eager to push their wares.

You'd never find a bargain in Whiterun. Stradlater rarely thought about the mathematics behind it, but in a world where you could sell something for ten septims only to find it at a windowsill on sale for one-hundred moments later, there was no questioning that God was a bit of a git. A cruel git at that.

The Redguard took a seat on the lip of one of the city's many drainage wells, slam bang in the centre of the shopping district's plaza; fittingly mere metres away from the _Bannered Mare_'s entrance. No doubt the mildly pissed and inebriated patrons of the tavern were perfect targets for sales pitches. You'd easily sell them a sweet roll to go with their pint for triple digits.

**"Bits and bobbles!"** a sweet old woman cooed in that curiosity-peaking manner only grandmothers seemed to possess. A young boy gazed at her in wonder, doing his best to struggle against his mother's leading hand. She continued to call to him as he sulked off in his parent's tow, **"Fit for a knight!"**

**"Fresh cuts from the wild!"** a young hunter announced, legs of meat dangling from hooks on his stand's sign like the jagged teeth of an ornate necklace. He reached for a rather vicious looking cleaver and slammed it down with trained poise, cleanly cutting a chunk of venison straight down its middle and causing every male in a three mile radius to wince in sudden self-awareness. **"This one was a leader, that's for sure. Plenty of meat." **he smirked,** "I'd want it before someone beat me to it!"**

It reminded him of Hammerfell, that's for sure. Well, to be honest he was pretty sure that _all_ the markets of Skyrim reminded every Redguard and Breton and Imperial and more of their distant homelands. If one thing was in common between every civil race in Tamriel, it was that shopping districts were all identical.

_Same scams, same deals._

_Same warmth, same welcome._

Stradlater stalked his prey like a hawk on the hunt. Across the street was a produce store, ran by a young Imperial mother by the name of Carlotta and her ditzy daughter. He'd heard her peddling her wares from the _Mare_ every day since he'd arrived. She was dedicated to feeding that child of hers, that was for sure. He had no idea where to start, but logically speaking wouldn't a farmer or gardener like her have access to alchemy reagents?

The charred man rose to his feet like an unsteady drawbridge, waiting for a break in the steadily growing crowd to slip on by. After getting caught in a few mobs and missing his turn-in for the fourth time, he eventually reached the merchant and her forlorn stall. No doubt the local Nords preferred their raw meat to sour fruit and veg. Stradlater placed his hands on the beaten pine, feeling jagged splinters prodding at his fingertips.

Carlotta certainly looked surprised, raising her head to meet the towering fellow. He had the form of a "_tax_" collector; the sort who was more proficient at breaking knees than counting coin. **"Hello there sir, wonderful morning isn't it?"** she smiled warmly, the beaming welcome of her expression a stark contrast to the exhaustion that sat under her eyes. The merchant reached under the counter for a moment, pulling out a few more sales pieces. The good stuff, reserved for richer customers.

**"What would you like?"**

Stradlater cut right to the chase, leaning against the counter with a conspiratory air about him. The merchant didn't seem to notice how she autonomously crooned back. The Redguard's working eye darted left and right. **"**_**Nyce Thighs**_**."**

Carlotta paused with confusion, wondering just what the peculiar man was after. You'd think she'd feel safe amidst the crowd of people in the shopping district, yet this little one-on-one session had been discomforting enough at the start. She bowed her head submissively. This could've been a famous doctor or lawyer for all she knew. **"... Thank you?"**

**"**_**Slendoor Legs**_**?"** he pressed on, tapping against the counter. The milkier of his two eyes was probably futilely scanning the horizon, not that you'd be able to tell. **"Have you got them?"**

She held onto the hem of her ragged dress, tugging at it defensively as she flushed with embarrassment. She hadn't encountered someone so forward for the whole of her life; and she worked outside of a twenty-four-seven tavern in the drunkest hold of the north. A place where every single man was so insecure about his sexuality that they made certain to stress their preferences whenever possible. **"**_**Excuse me**_**?"**

**"How about a **_**Pert Bottom**_**?"** he sighed, licking his dry and cracked lips. He bent over to try and look under the counter, hoping to speed up the process. **"I need them all, sorry. I hope you have them, I've been looking all over. You looked like the best bet around here."**

Rest assured no amount of military training or experience would've prepared the Redguard for the attack he took to the flank of his face. He could feel his cheek glowing an agonising pink as his upper body spun a full 180, the recoil of a blunt full-on slap to the face from a woman who hauled fruit for a living putting enough strain on his spine to snap a lesser man into two.

He stood there in mild confusion, blinking wetly as he considered what had just happened. **"... I think I **_**actually**_** deserved that this time."**

**"Thanks for the **_**business**_**."** Carlotta growled bitterly, balling her hand into a bony fist. While no diplomat, Stradlater deciphered the communication methods of Cyrodiil and came to the conclusion that the merchant probably didn't want him within a five metre radius of she or her daughter in the near future. With that sorted he promptly made like a deer, and retreated.

_"Stranger lists", huh?_

_You just keep saying that._

He'd hoped that he would at least be able to start some sort of trail from the fruit stall, yet it appeared that his little escapade had thrown him deep into a river creek in a set of steel plate armour. The wanderer returned to his resting spot at the well in a foul mood, continuing to rub at the stinging flesh of his cheek in a circular motion.

**"O-Oh my!"** a gentle voice did its best to gasp, accompanying the racket of pots and pans rolling down the avenue in a growing stampede. A loud thump was followed by a horrified squeak, prompting many a raised eyebrow from a growing crowd. **"I'm so sorry, I..."** that thump sounded again, followed by a grunt of pain and yet another, equally horrified squeak. **"Oh no!"**

Stradlater crooked his neck to pierce through the mass of bystanders, doing his best to work out what was causing all of the hubbub and commotion. He rose to his full height, politely finding his way through a group of young mothers to spot the source.

**"That was my **_**face**_**."** a Nord whose accent was thicker than his chest hair grumbled, a large hoof-shaped mark seated square on his forehead. He rubbed the injury irritably, looking less like an injured man and more like someone who'd just lost their front-door key. **"Would you mind not hitting my face?"** he spat at his assailant, who timidly hobbled to his side with a ginormous leg of venison over her shoulder and began to dab at his lip with a feminine hanky. He frantically pushed away, doing his best to stop her helping and preserve his masculinity. **"Puh puh! **_**Stop**_**!"**

Soft-Her-Scales, the Argonian barmaid of the _Bannered Mare_, hung her head in shame as the leg of meat struggled to remain seated on her slender, tapered shoulder. **"S-Sorry, I just wanted to..."** she stuttered in shame, trying to make amends for the injury she'd caused him. She rose to her feet with a shaky gait, trembling with the burden of the meat and the responsibility of the damage she'd caused. **"I'll try and-"** she flinched, causing the venison leg to flop to the side and clobber a bystander clean in the jaw. He crumpled in an instant, falling unconscious before he even hit the ground. **"Ah, **_**sir**_**!"**

**"Oh, **_**terrific**_**."** the Nord sighed in exasperation, nodding at the first man she'd injured adjacent to him. **"That's three men down. You're on **_**fire**_**, Lizard."** he congratulated sarcastically. He honestly wondered if she was on a secret mission to incapacitate every single person in Whiterun. Perhaps she was the first step in a secret Stormcloak initiative to seize the city? He swung his hand back and forth like a child in a tantrum, barking commands. **"Somebody get a medicus, before she **_**maims**_** someone!"**

One of the market guards heeded his call and made from the Temple of Kynareth with a slow and deliberate pace. This sort of thing happened all of the time believe it or not. There was no point in worrying about it. The crowd soon began to disperse, leaving the trio of wounded men and their attacker on their lonesome. **"I... Ummm..."** Scales looked left and right, surrounded by suffering and inconvenience. She put her feet together, keeping the venison under her control for the moment. **"I-I'll just stand still..."**

Stradlater waited for the crowd to dissipate, disassembling as quickly as it had formed.** "Soft-Her-Scales." **he greeted out of the blue, promptly causing her to jerk in surprise and drop the leg onto the ground. He did his best to smile at her warmly, yet it was about as useful as a barking dog with a frothing gob when it came to calming the air. **"... Hello there."**

**"S-Sir Stradlater!"** she yelped, crouching over and wrapping her arms around the large hunk of meat in a big bear hug. The Redguard exhaled, continuing to pace closer. Her taloned fingers did their best to find a purchase, yet her tentative nature wasn't particularly cooperative.** "Let me... G-Get this out of your way..."**

His head tilted as if he had one massive earring on. **"Do you need any help?"** the scarred mercenary asked, a large berth surrounding the pair on the otherwise frantic market street. It was a tad bit disheartening to see that no-one in the whole of Whiterun had offered their assistance to the vulnerable young woman already. If you thought it was hard being a Redguard in Skyrim, you should've tried being an Argonian.

_To think they were worse off in Windhelm._

Scales was having none of that. **"I-I'm fine, sir!"** she insisted unconvincingly, looking like a bony teenager doing squats alongside the popular kids. After a few more attempts she knelt by the venison's side, seeming like she'd winded herself from strain. **"Doesn't sir... S-Sir Silent-He-Wonders need your assistance, Sir Stradlater?"**

_Sir, sir , sir, sir, sir._

_"I shall Sir-Cumvent this Sir-Nario, for I am a Sir-Tified Sir-Valence Officer."_

Stradlater never forgot about the wild boasts that Wonders had made on the day they'd met the Argonian barmaid. You'd think that she'd have figured it out at this point, yet it seemed she was still utterly convinced that the slimy magician was the Archmage of the College of Winterhold, and that the burly warrior by his side that often fought the urge to rip out his stubby crown hairs and turn them into a mop head was his loyal butler.

He decided to play along for now. He'd rather sort out the situation at hand with their mutual acquaintance first before doing anything drastic. **"Yes."** he said, taking a moment to recall what they were talking about. He crouched with a click of weathered bones as his backing track. It was the sort of cacophony that would embarrass a forty-nine year-old shepherd, let alone a veteran arguably still in his prime. **"That's why I'm at the market, in fact."** he leant forward and grabbed a firm hold of the meat, hoisting it up in one swift motion. It was heavier than it looked, which was an achievement considering just how heavy it clearly appeared. He distributed the weight across his broad shoulders.

_Military training was around 20% fighting with swords._

_The rest tended to be lugging things around._

Scales still clung onto the end of the meat, having been holding on pathetically the entire time. Gradually her grip faltered, passing on the responsibility to the Redguard not out of willingness but rather out of submission. **"P-Please, there's no need..."**

**"I insist."** he smirked, the knee of the leg bent around the back of his neck. He'd prefer to have the slender legs of a beautiful Bosmeri draped over his head, but then beggars couldn't be choosers. He still had his imagination, didn't he? Seeing the discomfort of the young woman before him, he did his best to throw out a joke. It certainly wasn't an attempt to flirt; he'd gotten past that stage over the months, unlike a certain Wonders. **"... One **_**maid**_** to another, hmm?"**

The Argonian laughed to herself gently, a tender trio of fingers covering the end of her snout in such a girly and feminine manner that he could practically feel his eyelashes perking up. It was a giggle that came less out of amusement, and more out of her unending capacity for politeness. 'twas adorable, all the same. Her hands met eachother at her front, green fingers tightly interlocking.** "... M-May I ask something, sir?"**

A swift puff of air squeezed through his pursed lips, and he wrestled with the venison to adjust its position. The more uncomfortable he got, the more he longed for that Bosmeri and her legs. He wouldn't mind just having the thighs; he was in a good mood.** "You may."**

**"What is it that... Sir Silent-He-Wonders wants?"** she asked, eager to offer her aid to a friend in need.

_Well, he wants you, a bed, and a bowl of chocolate syrup._

_Nothing else mind, not even clothes._

**"Actually, that's a good question."** Stradlater segwayed masterfully, feeling the sensation that the Thalmor probably felt every time they pulled wool over the Empire's eyes. One of the injured Nords from before began to mumble to himself incoherently, outraged by the lack of assistance he was receiving. He sounded less like an injured man and more like someone with a poorly stomach. **"He had a list of reagents he wanted, but I couldn't find a store for them."**

**"R-Reagents?"** Scales latched onto the word, her metaphorical lips parting to expose her maw of teeth; their edges seeming less vicious and more elegant than a male's set. Her palms rubbed together in excitement at the prospect, the sound of her rough skin scraping against itself sending shivers down the Redguard's spine like nails down a chalkboard. **"I-Is he brewing a potion? My, that sounds... **_**Enchanting**_**!"**

Stradlater reflected on the interest she'd showered them with the day they met at the _Bannered Mare_. Wonders may have been a total tosspot, but he certainly knew how to pull them a tenth of the time on average. **"You do love your magic, don't you?" **he pointed out the obvious, too anxious to say anything wittier. **"Do you know where I could find his reagents?"**

**"**_**A-Arcadia's Cauldron**_** should have them..." **she considered aloud, her talons prodding against her chin in thought. She didn't seem quite as nervous now, yet that strange stutter and stammer remained. Did she have some sort of speech impediment, or had she eaten too much cake and made her tongue all droopy?** "I'm going there soon to buy some things..."**

The venison rocked on his back. He could've sworn it was trying to wriggle free and hop away towards freedom on its singular foot. **"Well, I guess I could tag along. If you don't mind."**

She hung her head in reflection, tossing the offer about in her mind. She still had quite a bit of shopping left to do today, and having a strong pair of arms to help her on her way would certainly be helpful. However, if there was one thing she didn't want to be it was a burden on others. Scales warned him of the implications openly, **"I-It may take some time."**

The wanderer tried his best to keep grinning, yet the hinges of his jaw felt more tense than the finale of an emotional sonata piece during a fencing duel to the death. He honestly pondered how Wonders was able to keep his smug smirk going perpetually. He flexed his jaw, chewing an invisible biscuit. **"I've got plenty of time to spare."**

Her smile made the aching pain more than worth it, that's for sure. Scales was truly pleased that she had someone to shop with her today. The idle stares of mothers and pointing fingers of children tended to get a bit embarrassing when she was alone, so sticking to a pair would likely help distribute the heat. **"O-Okay!"** she agreed enthusiastically, sounding like the host to a family restaurant. A list was drawn from her pockets, which she unravelled happily. **"**_**Berethor's General Store**_** first..."**

Stradlater watched on curiously as the parchment continued to swivel, rolling further and further until it plopped onto the damp cobbles. It continued to roll along on its way, bounding down the streets of Whiterun and taking a left at the nearest turn-in.

_He couldn't quite see where it stopped._

X

To be truthful he couldn't really tell the difference between browsing and loitering, but the Redguard was quick to learn that the former is generally far more acceptable than the latter. The peculiar duo spent several hours traversing the relatively narrow corridors of Whiterun, picking up all sorts of goodies from the surrounding establishments, putting them down, then picking them back up again. They garnered a fair share of eyes as they went, although it was to be expected. Redguards weren't exactly the most common sight in the city, and as for Argonians?

_You'd have more luck finding Nirnroot in your privy._

The men and women of the Black Marsh - the _Hist-kin_ or something, if Wonders was sober when he said it - were often dumped into the same bracket as the Khajiit of Elsewyr and barred entry into most of the cities of Skyrim. Maybe it was feral instinct, but humans tended to have trouble trusting creatures that resembled dragons and sabretooths respectively. Like it or not, Whiterun wasn't quite home.

Berethor had been friendlier than most at least, but he was clearly uneasy in the presence of the young woman. And this was the single soul in Whiterun who had regular dealings with the Dragonborn, a man who seemed to sell bloodied rags and skulls for a living. The Breton had given the pair a discount on their purchases, but Stradlater could tell that it was less out of sympathy and more out of a desire to get them both out of his shop as soon as possible.

_It was just business, understandably._

_Nothing personal._

The unlikely alliance now stood by the doors of _Arcadia's Cauldron_, a rather solemn looking guard standing by its door with his discontent on display even through his concealing helmet. A mass of goods sat on the curve of Stradlater's back, accelerating a process that hadn't even started yet. In direct contrast the innocent and dainty Scales had nothing in tow save for a small packet of raisins, which she held close to her chest like a newborn to the teat.

**"N-Now it's just wheat."** she concluded, squinting at the end of the list. They'd found it nestled comfortably at the feet of the Statue of Talos of all places, the roll of paper having managed to somehow climb several flights of _bloody stairs_. Scales was truly grateful for her fellow maid's continued support. Most would have been crushed by the burden, literally. **"Thank you for all of your help, sir..."**

He merely shrugged. Or rather he tried to shrug, only to wibble and wobble for a secure footing. **"Well, you know what they say."**

Scales blinked wetly, her sparkling eyes gaining a new layer of twinkles and glitter. **"... Do I?"**

_He hoped so, since he apparently didn't._

The stocky guard glanced between the pair, fiddling with the shaft of his sheathed battle-axe. Scales bowed her head shyly, as she often did. **"Wheat..." **she said, as if reading from a queue board. The watchman briefly turned to her as if the word was his name, yet quickly returned to staring off into the middle-distance. The Argonian fiddled with the hem of her dress, briefly looking up at the burly veteran with a burst of bravery. **" ... I-It's funny, isn't it? That they sell wheat at potion shops? Hehheh..."**

While he admittedly missed the joke completely, Stradlater nudged the guard's shoulder with his own and chuckled warmly. The guard tilted his bucket head as the Redguard stared at him, only to contribute his own withdrawn guffaw. **"That's good."** the watchman nodded, sounding very much like a fed up nanny. **"I get it. Very clever."**

_To think he left the farm at Rorikstead for this job._

Pulling out his shorter list and ignoring the strange urge to compare lengths with the woman, Stradlater scanned that familiar trio of reagents for what must've been the fifth time today. **"Do you really think she'll have these?"** he sighed with uncertainty, focusing on the hastily scribbled scrawl. **"Wonders and I are in **_**desperate**_** need of them."**

**"How would I know?"** the guard grumbled, folding his arms across his pecs.

**"I wasn't talking to you."** Stradlater raised an eyebrow, wondering why the watchman was standing at such a secluded spot in the first place.

**"Likewise!"** he fumed disobediently, shouldering past him and stomping away on patrol. He walked with a heroic gait, near identical to the rest of his lookalikes in the Whiterun City Watch. **"My brother's out fighting dragons and what do I get? **_**Guard duty**_**."**

The Redguard kept his eyebrow raised in the wake of the peculiar encounter, before eventually handing the list of ingredients over to Scales. Logically she'd know a lot more about the stocks of the local stores than him, having lived here longer.

Holding the paper steadily between two hands, a flush of red slowly began to sprout across her cheeks. Scales raised the parchment to hide her mouth, doing her best to will the red away.

_Slendoor's Legs?_

_Nyce's Thighs?_

_Pert's Bottom?_

Being an Archmage must've been a stressful, challenging job. No doubt Sir Silent-He-Wonders was prone to homesickness after spending so much time away from Winterfell, tending to other matters at the tavern involving the books he often hauled around. It was certainly perverse, but then her life was far much simpler than his wasn't it? She timidly folded the paper and offered it, unable to meet the butler's eyes without blushing at the thought.** "I-I'm sure you two will find what you need, sir..."**

With that the pair entered the shop, its lack of windows compensated by a roaring campfire at its middle that certainly added no health risk to the wooden terrace whatsoever. Stradlater set his load down against the wall adjacent to the door, stretching his back to rid it of its aching pain. Hundreds of different smells seized his senses, sweet and savoury abound; reagents were anywhere that could accommodate them, down to every last nook and cranny.

Who would've thought that you'd find reagents in a potion store?

Stradlater shook his head in self-loathing. He'd need a smooth one once he got back to the _Mare_.

The titular Arcadia of _Arcadia's Cauldron_ leaned forward to glance over a smoking alchemist set on her counter. **"Aha! Welcome!" **she cooed, fanning at the billowing pillars of smoke emitted by her tonics. **"Browse to your heart's content. I'm not going anywhere for a while yet."**

The Redguard nodded in cool understanding, feeling rather stylish even in his weathered and stinking Ra Gardan traveling robes. Scales instead stuck to her customary bow before timidly back-pedalling and taking a spot behind her large companion, "_guarding the rear_" as Wonders would put it. He took the lead, navigating past the terribly positioned hearthfire. This place wasn't designed to be a shop, it was designed to be a home.

_A home with terrible health regulations._

Always one to cut to the chase, Stradlater placed his hands on the counter like a politician on the verge of giving a speech. Arcadia didn't stir from her potions, humming to herself in amusement. The mercenary frowned, tapping his nails against the stained work surface to try and garner her attention. **"... Have you got **_**Nyce Thighs**_**?"**

Arcadia continued to work on her tonics, looking up only to reach for a rather dark and pointy looking leaf. She bit on it, revealing a tongue covered in lumpy cuts and ulcers, before working on the flora with a pestle and mortar. **"... Well, I'll leave that to **_**you**_** to decide."**

He was getting impatient, which was quite the record considering how little he'd said. **"**_**Slendoor Legs**_** and a **_**Pert Bottom**_**, please**?"

The alchemist looked up for a moment, giving him a quick do over with her darty eyes. After a brief moment of consideration, she leant against the counter in a way to accentuate her non-existent love handles and flashed a smirk that would probably get her incarcerated in a less shameful town. **"If you're trying to flirt with me, you're doing a fine job **_**stud**_**."**

**"What? **_**No**_**!"** Stradlater snarled in disbelief, the invisible Scales poking her head around his side to observe the commotion. He pulled out the list once more, slamming it on the desk and uprooting a few vials.** "It's a list of reagents I've been asked to get. Do you have them in stock?"**

Her arms shot out faster than crossbow bolts, catching her bubbling concoction and saving most of it from staining the counter. Righting it, she took a moment to croon over the note with judgement in her gaze. **"Those aren't ingredients."** she said bluntly, recognising the shoddy penmanship within moments. A lanky Argonian who claimed he had permission from the Greybeards on the behalf of the Dovahkiin to claim several hundred clumps of Chaurus eggs had submitted a note with the very same handwriting weeks prior. A subtle sizzle signified the liquid of the potion burning through the wood of the counter.** "If you ask me, you've been duped by a **_**master**_** of the craft."**

_She hoped the emphasis was sarcastic enough for him._

Stradlater grit his teeth in the wake of this betrayal, shaking his head in dismissal as Scales tried to pat his back. **"I'm sorry, miss."** he apologised, swiping up his note and forking it into his pocket in a screwed up ball. **"I didn't mean any of that, and I hope I haven't caused any off-"**

This time he saw the flat of her palm coming towards him, but all that did was give him a layer of understanding to the agony he was on the verge of partaking in. Scales yelped as once again Stradlater spun on his heel, bearing all the grace and charm of an inebriated ballet dancer who'd just been dumped at the altar. While he wasn't the go-to source for legal defence, he was pretty sure he didn't deserve it that time. **"What was **_**that**_** for?!"**

**"You're saying I **_**don't**_** have nice thighs?"** Arcadia growled pedantically, shaking her aching palm with recoil. The Redguard deserved another spanking as punishment for injuring her hand with his thick, stupid face. **"Offence taken!"**

The air simmered as a glare of bitter resentment was shared between them, mutual disbelief vying to outweigh their competition. Amidst the fury and desires for divine retribution, Scales quietly shuffled in with her angelic little voice and a purse of septims on hand.** "... M-May I have some wheat please?"**

The violent staring contest continued for a few seconds longer, only for Arcadia to suddenly shift focus and change expression as if her face was made of some sort of malleable jelly. Stradlater flinched in total confusion as she returned to shop-keeper mode, tending to a customer who'd shown her coin. She smiled purely, squeezing her aching hand under her armpit. **"Of course, I had a fresh batch sent in this morning. You're in luck!"**

**"L-Lucky!"** Scales smiled gently, tapping her snout. She tried her best to ignore the fumes that were coming from both the burnt wood of the countertop and Stradlater's ears, as did the shopkeeper.

Barely a minute later the two had left, their pickings for the day in tow and ready for review. The warrior grumbled in discomfort as Scales counted through her list and checked that they had all the goods she needed, rubbing his pair of red cheeks to ease the pain. The ones on his _face_. Figures; he'd been slapped twice without the pleasure of having cheated on someone, like Wonders probably would have.

Content with their haul, Scales brushed her finger against the tips of the wheat testingly. **"T-That's everything."** she assessed, her fingers trembling ticklishly. A swift intake of air through Stradlater's teeth only made her frown,** "I'm sorry for all the trouble..."**

**"Bah, don't worry about it."** he dismissed her worries. The charred veteran had survived his own share of ordeals over the years. A couple of spankings from unruly women hurt his ego more than his body. The streets were gradually emptying as the sun dangled high in the air, no doubt having peaked for the day. The city would be lit by nothing but torches and candles within a few hours, the sun setting fast with the coming of Frostfall. He shouldered the load, **"We'd best get this stuff home."**

**"Sir Stradlater..."** Scales sighed in wonder, flattered by his eagerness to help. It was strange; with such hardiness and combat experience, you'd think he'd be a _soldier_ rather than a butler. The Argonian was truly grateful for all the help he'd given her, but with that also came a sense of debt. Debt she fully intended to pay. **"W-Would you like something to eat...?"**

To be fair, he should've worked it out a lot quicker than he did. No doubt the young barmaid was planning to create quite the filling meal. One for the ages that would put all of Skyrim's gourmands on the edge, that's for sure. **"I wouldn't want to intrude."** he said politely, denying his honest opinion as well as his rumbling belly.

**"I insist, sir."** she smiled confidently, echoing his words from the start of the day with her own feminine flourish. When it comes to women and dinner, they were always right. **"I-It's the least I can do... To thank you..."**

He made to raise his eyebrow, only to realise that it was still frozen in place from his dispute with the town guard. He willed it down, only to raise it again with much less of an effect than he'd intended. **"For what?"**

Scales bowed her head with respect and thanks. **"... For being a friend."**

_That was reason enough._

**"Then I'd be honoured." **Stradlater agreed. He did his best to bow, but with the burden of shopping weighing a heavy toll on his back it was little more than a slight lean forward followed by a chorus of worried "_Woah_"'s and "_Ahh_"'s ", something that gave Scales a brief case of the giggles.

**"Follow me!"** the young woman beamed giddily, almost childish in her sudden unbound enthusiasm. Maybe the only reason she seemed so shy was because she was often in the company of strangers? Perhaps, in the presence of those she trusted, she was the heart of the party?

_Well, he wouldn't go that far._

_He couldn't picture her burping the chorus to "Ragnar the Red"._

Adhering to her command he followed her lead, the young Argonian constantly stopping at corners to wait for the weight to catch up with her. The pair traversed the cobblestones past duos and trios making their own treks home towards the actual residential district. Stradlater was versed enough in the city's layout to know that they were getting further and further away from where everyone lived, and closer and closer to the main gate.

By the large waterflow that circled Whiterun and acted as its drainage, the pair faced what appeared to be a tall and thin cottage squeezed tightly between the guardhouse and the city wall, just adjacent to the Warmaidens smithy. He'd never actually seen it before, and he frequented the smithy almost every week.

_Out of sight, out of mind._

_That's one way to keep the peace._

Waiting at the doorway for Scales to fumble for her keys, Stradlater couldn't help but eye the glowing windows of the nearby barracks. A line of freshly forged helmets adorned the windowsill like a row of skulls on the doormat of a troll's den. The major share of his mind thought it was a coincidence that the barracks were so close to her home. A smaller portion thought it was a precaution.

A loud click jogged him back to the material plane, as the door slowly creaked open with all the subtlety of a religious fanatic rambling at a city square. Scales kept a tight hold on the door as it swung, making doubly sure that she didn't knock the wall.

**"What's wrong?" **the nomad frowned with concern, autonomously tilting his head to try and catch a view of whatever it was that lurked inside.

The barmaid lowered her eyes, timidly hopping onto the doormat with the grace of a silken and sleek feline. **"W-We should be quiet."** she suggested, wiping her spotless soles against the thatch sheet. Glancing up to see a bewildered Stradlater standing out at the porch, she curtsied in welcome. **"... He might be napping."**

With the wariness he often spared for abandoned crypts that adventurers would explore yet never return under mysterious circumstances, the Redguard shifted the goods he had in tow and stepped indoors upon heavy feet.

_Who dares disturb the Lion's Den?_

X

_(A/N): At last we return!_

_To be honest I was initially a bit uncertain with the start to this story. While it's been planned alongside a bunch of other instalments in the series for months, the main meat of what has actually been considered for the lengthiest period has been the middle of the story... Which is to come in Chapter 2!_

_As for how soon this has been released following my previous fic, it comes from a push to try and finish a large chunk of stories to cover a gap in writing I'll be having by May. I've got exams to "focus" on, you see!_

_Next time we'll enter the den, where I'm sure all manner of escapades shall be had. After all, there's Nothing Like Home! *Zing*_


	2. The Blue View

**(A/N):** The less than triumphant TES fic series has... Triumphantly... Returned!

When we last joined our group of rejects the forlorn Stradlater, betrayed by his cruel companion, found himself running into Soft-Her-Scales under the sort of coincidental circumstances that only ever seem to happen in stories!

After doing a few minor favours for her and being slapped around like Joffrey from GOT, the Redguard finds himself invited to dinner by the charitable Argonian maid. However, if there was one thing more awkward than having dinner with someone you wanted to sleep with a few months back, it's having dinner with someone you wanted to sleep with a few months back _and_ the person who she's currently sharing a bed with!

With this awkward introduction out of the way, onwards we go to chapter two!

**WARNING: **Spelling errors, mildly inappropriate language, bad jokes, a notable lack of Silent-He-Wonders, too much stuttering, bad attempts at writing strong accents, inconsistent quality, awkward drama and a moral that goes all over the place!

**Chapter Two: The Blue View**

Possibly the first thing that grabbed him about the fellow was his inhuman height. Seated contently on a ragged yet homely armchair, his knees were practically drawn up to his chest in a feeble attempt to find a comfortable stance. His posture slouched forward, as if his elongated jaw and bulky nose were weighing him down or trying to make him curl up in the featle position.

_There was also an axe stuck in his head._

Yet again, he was an Orc. As such it kind of made sense that he had an inhuman height. That was kind of the point of _not_ being a human, wasn't it? Rest assured, the second thing that grabbed Stradlater was a sudden feeling of inadequacy in the presence of the bulky bloke. He wasn't one to boast about the complexity of his character, but the whole "_tall, muscular, scarred sentinel_" thing had always been his thing. The orc seemed to do all of it better, dwarfing even him in both size and bravado.

_Furthermore, there was also an axe stuck in his head._

His bare and broad shoulders flexed repeatedly as he fashioned the tip of an iron-caste boot, its weathered twin sat at the side-line like that token old lady at the cleric's waiting room. The same old lady that you saw at every temple everywhere, regardless of location or circumstance. There was a certain comfort in his strokes, fitting of an esteemed and experienced blacksmith. Of course Stradlater tried to feel that esteem for him. All he felt was a mild sense of seething jealousy in comparison to his own metalwork.

_He didn't feel the axe though, which was still stuck in his head._

_It'd probably still be stuck in the orc's head the next time he looked at it._

A large, rusted chunk of metal pulled from the blade of a bearded war axe had been lodged into the flank of his forehead. Either the orc had the perception of a mountain goat mid-coitus, or it'd been there for quite some time. Like Stradlater's charred and disgraced suit of skin, he'd merely adapted to the point that it was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. It almost appeared to resemble a horn, the symbolism so rife and mature that the Redguard could virtually feel his wrists bleeding from the edginess.

_Still._

_There was a bloody axe in his bloody head._

**"Yer back, sweet pea?"** the orc suddenly spoke, his voice a deep and stoic bellow. He didn't look up from his craft, nor did he regard his guest. Yet his 'guest' certainly hopped out of his boots at the sudden break in silence. He honestly wondered how long he'd been wordlessly examining the hunk of masculinity.

**"I-I'm sorry Gath."** Scales apologised, the door gently falling shut behind her. Stradlater probably needed to get his ears checked, for all of these voices were catching him completely off guard. The timid Argonian paced past him, standing ever so slightly ahead in a genial and protective display fitting of a mother with her young. "I didn't mean to worry you."

**"Me? Worried? **_**Ha**_**."** the orc named Gath snickered with all the gentility of a phlegmy bandit, smirking and chuckling with equal enthusiasm. **"Sweet pea's **_**clever**_**, she don't need me watchin' all day no more." **he answered reasonably, that grin of amusement contorting into one of trust and familiarity. After a few moments of unspoken bonding, the greenskin let the chunk of axe flex akin to a raised eyebrow. Following a painfully awkward staring contest between Stradlater's focused eye and the fellow's strangely distant and confused irises, he spoke up once more.**"... Who's he? Been lookin' fer another guy when I was gone? Heh."**

Predictably the Argonian's namesake scales flushed a vibrant red, like a large chameleon who'd just been given a round of rum with a Fire Salt chaser. **"N-No!"** she gasped defensively, her frail hands rubbing at her snout to try and hide her embarrassment. The hearty teddy-bear laugh that he let off only reminded her of his joking nature, prompting her to pout and blow air into her cheeks. That had a strange effect when you didn't have lips, or actual cheeks for that matter. **"... Gath, that's **_**mean**_**."**

**"Ha!"** he said rather than laughed, wiping under his eye for any tears that might have gone on the run in the midst of his throes. He was quick to calm her down, eagerly reminding her that he had the noblest of intentions and meant no harm. **"Yer always look so **_**funny**_** when yer red. Couldn't help me-self."**

Her frown quickly contorted into a subtle smile. The attractive, curved mouth kind rather than the goofy baring of teeth. The accompanying tenderness of her giggle was enough to defuse explosives, calm minds and end wars. You'd be forgiven to have mistaken her for some sort of illusionist mage. **"He's a friend."** she noted, tentatively tugging at the rag of the Redguard's desert garments. He wandered forward like the boyfriend of a warlord's teenage daughter, coming between the familiar pair. **"J-Just a regular from the inn."**

The orc's talented fingers continued to work at the boot as he watched on, taking in the outsider's guise like the headsman of a tribe being offered a sacrifice. For some strange reason the _fifth_ thing that Stradlater thought about when looking at the older man was his prowess in bed. He probably strummed at a more elegant beat than the greatest bards of Solitude with those powerful, spry digits.

_Imagining how good an old orc was in bed._

_The worrying thing was that he didn't worry about that thought._

_Also the fact that he had an axe stuck in his head._

After a few moments of taking in his air both figuratively and literally, Gath stopped working on his craft for the first time since their guest had arrived. **"Aye." **he nodded approvingly, the Redguard having apparently passed some sort of rite of passage he hadn't been told about. **"Yer fine. Yer friends with the one like me sweet pea, starin' at her all the time."**

Obviously he meant the only other Argonian in Whiterun at the moment. To be perfectly literal, he didn't stare at her _all_ the time. He often closed his eyes to listen to her words and sniffed the rags she used to polish tankards, sighing ecstatically every time like the sociopathic little weirdo he tended to be. **"We prefer **_**acquaintance**_**."** he corrected the orc's terminology. Seeing it as appropriate under the roof of someone else's home, the Redguard clutched onto the hilt of his scimitar and pushed it downwards as he bowed. He offered his name in greeting, having been working on the complex technique of saying _'hello'_ to people without eating your tongue for several months since his dealings in Dragonsreach. **"Stradlater."**

That hearty laugh was becoming less welcoming and more annoying with every use. Did he realise what decibel he was shouting at? Was he trying to master one of those fangled dragon thu'ums? **"I ain't no king! Ha!"** Gath snickered at his ceremonial display, his hand resting on the mild bump of his belly. He looked at Scales, prodding his thumb at the man as if to say _'this guy right here'_, **"What's that yer do? **_**Milord**_**?" **he said with a surprisingly good mockery of a Breton noblewoman, curtsying with significantly less accuracy.

Pleased that the men under her wing were getting along dandily, Soft-Her-Scales took the time to skip away through one of the few doors that the miniscule house had. It may've been small and poorly furnished; it was surely damp and peculiarly cool. Yet still it was welcoming, and in the end that was all that mattered.

After a comical beat, she returned all red once more. No doubt she always looked pretty funny to the orc. **"P-Please, make yourself comfortable!"** she suggested. Shyly she reached for Stradlater's engorged bag of goods, and with a firm tug dragged it across the rugged rug and into what he supposed was the kitchen. **"I'll sort it out!"**

The gradual and foreboding creak of the door as it slowly closed punctuated the Redguard's unease, as suddenly the atmosphere lost a bit of its bounciness. The orc watched him with that shard of axe on high alert as he curiously examined the living room. After a moment he took a seat. Not literally, but rather he sat down on a worn sofa with caution in his gait. Gath raised his chin proudly, gauging the bloke before him. **"What? Do I scare ye or somethin'?"**

**"Oh yes."** Stradlater nodded, shuddering with mock insecurity. That was the sixth thing he was jealous of; the sheer manliness of the elder's posture. **"That curtsy was more girly than that frock Scales is wearing."**

_And that thing had tassels._

_Tassels._

**"Ha!"** he grinned, pleased by the Redguard's response. The _'joke'_, if you could call it that, was poorer than the Imperial treasury, but that didn't change the meaning behind his words. **"Guts. I think you an' I're gonna get on just fine." **the orc nodded, offering his unmanning hand. **"Gath gro-Ushar, husband t'Soft-Her-Scales, at yer service."**

He took the hand presented to him, wondering if his brown fist would get lost under all the green. **"Stradlater, Son of the Crowns of Hammerfell, at yours."**

Gath blinked, his jaw hanging open stupidly. **"That's long."** he said, completely missing the fact that Stradlater had already given his name moments prior.** "How yer remember all that?"**

_Fair point._

And to be perfectly honest, such a formal name didn't even apply to him anymore. It hadn't applied to him for over twenty _years_. He wasn't _'Stradlater, Son of the Crowns'_, but rather _'Stradlater, Disowned Exile and Lone Wanderer'. _The Redguard shrugged. **"... I just do I suppose."**

_Stradlater._

_A fake name for a faker man._

_A faker man who didn't have an axe in his head._

The orc mirrored his shrug with a comical emphasis to it, doing his best to smirk with a pair of teeth that would put a mammoth's tusks to shame filling his gob. **"Heh."** he chuckled comfortably, sinking and squirming in his seat for a moment before getting back into gear. He turned the boot over onto its side, stabbing at its sole with the blunted point of his tool. **"... You know..."**

He continued to prod and poke like a creepy necromancer looming over the nubile young body of a dame in distress, turning the shoe over in his hand to test the sturdiness of its leatherwork. Stradlater sat there for quite some time, drumming the fingers of his folded arms against his bare biceps.

Gath had forgotten he was there. Either he was so enticed by the sheer beauty and intrigue of hammering a bit of nicely painted footwear, or his mind had simply gone on a bit of a detour and found itself at a dead end. Regardless, it didn't change the fact that there was a bit of an axe lodged in a bit of his head. Stradlater was no physician, but he'd had enough experience to say that in the vast majority of cases that wasn't a particularly clever life plan. He leaned to the side a tad, speaking deliberately. **"... Do I...?"**

A slimy and gross snort signalled his surprise, as his lazy eyes spun for focus.

**"Hmm? Wuh?"** he asked the air, somehow managing to stare at both a crack in the ceiling and a dancing set of candlesticks to his rear flank. Rest assured, this was the sort of bloke that put guard dogs out of the job. After a moment of letting his jaw have a healthy stretch, he once again closed his mouth and licked at his lips, **"So what brought ye here, Red? Thought ye could grab me sweet pea when me back were turned?"**

The Redguard decided to ignore the peculiar old man's brief lapse into lala land for the moment, and kept his composure with surprising consistency. True he still sounded like a last minute hire for a school play, but then he'd sounded like that since the moment he'd had his first run-in with Scales that morning. **"I could do that if I wanted."** he noted, turning to the door she'd gone through prior. **"You'd need to stand up to stop me after all."**

Grinning at the wanderer's challenge, the orc let his smithing implement clatter to the rough crown of his worktop. With a rumbling creak of either his joints or the floorboards, the great green guy at last unfolded to his full height. "_Inhuman_"? You'd be forgiven to mistake him for a bloody giant!

He looked down on him - literally, not figuratively - and kept his measuring and beaming grin on full power. Stradlater had trouble choosing which eye he should focus on, not wanting to cause any offence. **"Me mama's mama killed a bunch of you Reds at Orsinium ye know."** Gath smirked proudly, like the boy in the playground doing his best to convince his friends that he'd kissed the local beauty. **"Took a platoon to bring 'er down they reckon."**

Stradlater had to squint to deal with the frightful glint of the orc's tusks. He wasn't quite sure which Orsinium the old orc was talking about, as there'd been plenty of kingdoms that bore the name that faced the same fates. There was only one time the likes of the Redguards crossed paths with those of the Orcs however. **"Probably brought down a few of my great uncles."** the warrior put forward, nodding his head. It was strange discussing a bloody and violent conflict like it was just another Middas evening, but that's how it was coming across. **"Must've been the most fun she'd had in years."**

**"Heh, yeah."** Gath nodded, a great big set of olive fingers scratching at the fur of his chin. **"Same fer yer uncles, that's fer sure. I always liked you Redguards". **Few men had what it took to take an orc on one-on-one. The Bretons had the cunning sure, and the Nords had the courage certainly, but when push came to shove only the nomads and knights honed and forged like dragonglass in the scorching deserts of Hammerfell had both in equal measure. A part of him wished he was alive back then to see it, the greatest warriors of the greatest warbands duking it out for the sake of their futures. He swung his fist at his chest in a gesture of respect, causing the Redguard to flinch. He just barely managed to hide it, not that the orc would've noticed. **"You got guts".**

_Plenty of guts in the case of Orsimer. All over the bloody floor._

_Exterior decorating at its finest._

**"I think you an' I're gonna get on just fine."** he repeated with the same sing-song jauntiness to his voice, settling back on his spot once again. Without further word he spun the boot around in his hand for a moment, closely examining the quality of its heel and casing. Then after a few ticks of this he returned to chiselling at its front, like a commoner at a rich man's store trying his best to look like he knew what he was doing.

Once again they were at square one. Stradlater was increasingly feeling like the kid without a partner being forced to pair up with the boy who smashes beatles and collected stones. He rocked on the weathered heels of his sandals, eyeing the footwear Gath tended to with jealousy. **"... So you're Gath gro-Ushar. That's your family?"**

**"Wuh?"** he came to again, searching for him with those darting eyes like he'd lost his door keys on a rainy day. Gath collected himself after a moment, no doubt having found the key in his back pocket. Despite this, he still had a look of bewilderment. **"How'd you get that?"**

The Redguard didn't move. **"You told me your name?"**

He shook his head ever so slightly as he reviewed the last few minutes of discussion. Soon enough a spark of electricity surged through the dustier parts of his brain, and he lit up without a flicker. **"... Oh yeah!" **he cheered. Ushar had been the name of the fort he'd hailed from far to the west, at the steeper cliffs of High Rock that few could bear to settle. "**Came from far away. Been a while since I was home." **he reflected, "_home_" being a land filled to the teeth with fanatical Forsworn and Hagravens who clawed at the gates day in and day out. Of course all his mas would keep his birth-home safe as they had done for centuries. He had no reason to worry about them. **"Whiterun's home now, yer see? Home for us outsiders."**

_That included outsiders with an axe in their head, apparently._

Rearrange a few words and change a few letters and Stradlater could practically see his own tale between the lines. Whiterun was home for him now for certain, but it didn't change a simple fact. Like Gath, Wonders, Scales and even Faelindra way up at Dragonsreach, he was still an outsider far from his rightful home. **"Yeah. "** he agreed, mirroring Gath's perpetual smirk with more of a grimace.** "Same here."**

It may've not looked like it, but Gath had been painstakingly digging through his memories of the day so far to try and get to grips with the man before him. To be honest it didn't make much sense to him. How could Stradlater be an outsider from Hammerfell when he was a Crown, and part of its ruling elite?

The curiosity dug deeper than the steel on his brow, yet just like the axe he quickly moved on. A man's past is his own business, and he refused to pry and bother his fellow warrior any further. His fist unfurled into a flat palm, which he goofily slapped against his face in a mockery of the salutes of man. **"Welcome to the **_**Blueview**_." he struggled to say without lapsing into his babbling nay-incoherent dialect, winking trustingly. **"This house is home for ye, an all ye Redguards."**

_The Blue View_

_And he thought Breezehome was a bad name for a house._

It certainly wasn't a grimace now, his cheeks looking ever more pinchable in the wake of Gath's words. He was getting more and more jealous of the orc every second. In a soft-hearted, respectful, and gracious way. That was possible, wasn't it?

As if summoned by a spectral writer, the door adjacent to the one that Scales had previously entered creaked ever so slightly open, a snout followed by a pair of eyes and two frail hands clutching on the frame emerging from the room beyond. The pair of men turned to look at her, both taking a moment to consider how she'd managed to swap rooms.

_She must've been as agile as a Shadowscale._

_Or there was another way through as there often was with kitchens and dining rooms._

_He liked the first idea more. It involved women in tight black leather._

A full company of talons tapped and clicked at the gnarled wood, taking on an unassuming beat as Scales considered what she was about to say. Eventually she settled on the standard announcement that **"Dinner's ready"**, the myriad of smells that you'd expect at a Thane's banquet wafting forth from the room behind her and tickling at their collective senses. Soft-Her-Scales let her right hand pry itself from the doorframe and eased its tension, beckoning at them cutely with it. **"... G-Gentlemen?"**

Her glittery eyes followed by her quivering snout followed by both of her quaking palms and all ten of her lithe digits slipped back through the portal as the door gradually settled shut like the droopy tail of an increasingly cynical and bitter puppy. Giddily and haphazardly Gath gathered his work on his worktable before swinging himself to his feet in a hurry, pushing the desk a full foot across the living room with a loud, spine-chilling squeak.

Gath exchanged yet another glance with the Redguard, inflating its value and charm tenfold with every look. **"Yer know ladies an' there cookin'."** he spoke familiarly, folding his arms managerially. Of course Stradlater didn't, but he nodded anyway. He didn't want to spoil the moment. Gath gestured in the general direction of the Argonian with the prong of his axe. **"Better not leave the missus waitin', eh? Heh."**

As the duo of dudes made their way, Stradlater aimed his sights and shot a brief glance back at the work surface and the hundreds upon hundreds of deep-set scratches and scrapes that surrounded it. No doubt Gath damaged the joint every evening with his clumsiness, sending all sorts of things tumbling.

It didn't take long for the Redguard to realise that Gath was following him, tailing close behind as he made for what he could only assume was the dining room. It was almost as if he had absolutely no idea where he was going and what for, and was simple trotting along behind a familiar face with hope in his heart that they'd eventually find what they were after. It was a strangely specific conclusion to come to, but it was honestly all that Stradlater could think of.

_That and a sad feeling of nostalgia._

_As well the image of the axe, which was still stuck in his head._

They arrived under a low and misty fog that filled the air of the room, intensifying the already overwhelming dampness that the living room had had prior. Whipping away at the settling haze, the nomad eventually made out the vague outline of a dinner table and chairs, and the figure of a young woman tugging at a window.

**"S-Sorry!"** Scales apologised weakly, having smoked some of the meat without sufficiently covering it. Eventually her brittle arms managed to loosen the lock and push the windows apart, at last giving the fog a way to vent through. She clutched her snout in her hands, clearing her senses. **"There... That should help..."**

**"My sweetie pea makes the **_**best**_** eats."** Gath reassured obliviously, realising just where he was at long last. The deadpan snarker within the Redguard was eager to make a cynical comment, yet he managed to resist for the sake of the Argonian, and probably his own neck. The orc rubbed his stomach, what had appeared to be a growing belly in fact having a surprising firmness to it. **"I'm thinking she puts a lil' bit of love in every lil' bitty bite. Heh..."**

As the dust finally settled, Stradlater took the initiative just as quickly as he took his seat. All that did was earn him a glare from the old orc, who seemed almost offended by his lack of manners. The wanderer took a moment to consider the implications of his action, and after bowing his head in apology he sprang back to his feet. He'd spent so long hanging about in taverns amongst boyish bastards that his manners had been lost somewhere in a sunken shipwreck.

Satisfied by his choice, the orc merely stood there in total silence for a few moments. Stradlater wrinkled his toes awkwardly, his hands having gained a subtle layer of sweat from sitting within the confines of his pockets for extended periods of time. Salvation eventually came in the form of a beautiful young woman emerging from the kitchen bearing a large tray in a fashion only Nordic barmaids had mastered, three plates filled with delights sitting motionlessly on its top. She flinched as she noticed the pair staring, standing stiffly in her absence. **"O-Oh!"** she wobbled, whimpering nervously as she tried to regain her balance. She glanced between them for what must've been the eighth time that evening, feeling a tad bit special. **"Y-You... Didn't need to wait..."**

Stradlater could've sworn he saw the orc's elongated teeth wiggling in delight. **"Nah."** he dismissed her worries, forever following the ancient male code of ladies first. He took a testing step forward, looking very much like a hunter staring at a shell-shocked deer. **"Me sweet pea's always worth waitin' fer. Need help?"**

Scales somehow managed to shake her head in an excessively polite and thankful manner, which was impressive enough on its own, while simultaneously making the universal sound for "_no_" as she began to lay out the plates. The dishes in question were tightly packed right to the brim with all sorts of food stuff with a tavern-like twist here and there, the Argonian having no doubt learned her ways working at the _Mare_. These were the sort of platters that he'd seen some of the richer customers at the tavern eating, sat right up at the counter like the privileged snobs they were with those weird four-pointed forks that he thought would never catch on.

With all three plates and a grand myriad of condiments and drinks laid out, Gath pulled out Scales's chair and she - with a modest expression - took the seat stiffly. Stealthily winking at the house guest so secretively that the Redguard didn't even notice, the orc drew out his own chair by her side while Stradlater took up another opposite of them.

After a brief and unneeded headcount, Gath clapped his hands together loudly to make sure that everyone was awake. **"Well then!"** he began, rubbing his palms together in shrouded agony. Stradlater noticed the timid Argonian quietly scooting her chair, moving ever so closer to the aged orc's side. **"I heard you an' yer friend liked sweet pea's bread, **_**Red**_**"**. The desert wanderer glanced at his plate once more, wowed by what it had to show. It was more colourful than the gutter outside a pub. **"But yer ain't seen nuthin' yet!"**

_That's another way of saying "You may eat"._

_Or it was the strangest innuendo of the century._

Eagerly Gath fumbled for his fork and readied himself to spear some deer, yet he was quickly interrupted by a pair of scaled fingers tugging at his collar. He looked to his side to find Scales pulling out a napkin, patiently tucking it into his shirt to form a makeshift bib. **"Pea, **_**please**_**."** Gath said in hushed embarrassment, his voice the quietest it'd ever been since Stradlater's arrival. He was trying his best to whisper, but you could've heard every word he uttered from as far as the Throat of the World. **"I'm fine."**

**"I-It's hot."** she warned, patting her palms against his front to flatten the napkin across his barrel-like chest. She looked up at him concernedly, for the moment completely forgetting the third cog in the day's plans. Stradlater couldn't help but wonder if moments like these were common. Hesitantly she pulled away. **"... Better safe than sorry?"**

Eventually Gath nodded profusely, honestly trying to make himself agree with her. Glad that it was over the orc turned to face their guest, who thought the old soldier looked like a nobleman with a cravat. All he needed was a circlet to finish the image of a pompous git.** "So yer a blacksmith?" **Gath asked, wielding his fork like a murderer's dagger. **"Go t' **_**Warmaidens**_**?"**

The Redguard had only forked a sample of the myriad of food so far. He didn't feel particularly comfortable being the first one to take a bite. It seemed impolite, especially given the circumstances. **"Yes."** he confirmed, glad for a spot of small talk. No doubt the orc understood his nervous disposition. **"Isn't a better armourer in the entire hold."**

**"Heh, 'cause it's the **_**only**_** armourer n' the hold!" **Gath snickered, his palm hitting the table roughly. Scales echoed his chortle distantly with the slightest of smiles, glad to see that he was enjoying himself. **"Saw yer there workin' on yer armour. Orcish?"**

Stradlater gave his best approximation of a "_you mirin'?_" expression, trying to work out at what point the orc had found him tending to his gear. He'd never been around someone who was actually interested in armour, and it was definitely a welcome change to the norm. Wonders would usually just ramble on about fashionable rainbow pride robes, whining about how one set of clothes that cost a fortune more would make him just a _tad_ bit better at casting spells than another. **"Strong and reliable."** the Redguard found his place again, honouring the might of Orcish alloy. **"Like its makers."**

That certainly tickled the orc jolly, prompting him to raise a tankard high, **"Hear hear!"** he grinned, closing his eyes in bliss. This sudden movement drew Stradlater's attention to Scales for just a moment, who seemed to be leaning over Gath's plate and cutting up his venison. He hadn't noticed until now, but judging from how many bite-sized chunks sat on his dish she'd been at it for quite some time. The timid lass looked strangely content doing it. Gath returned to talking without hesitation. **"Yer good at it, Red. Where'd ye learn?"**

Stradlater licked his lips, partially out of hunger but mostly out of self-reflection. **"**_**Home**_**." **he said simply, and as he predicted the respectful orc let him change the topic without hassle. He understood the Redguard's discomfort. He wasn't here to make him uneasy. **"I don't think I've ever seen this house before. Been here long?"**

**"Oh, I dunno." **Gath muttered absently, looking down at his venison curiously. Noting the even lines of easy to eat cubes as well as the beautiful Argonian busily cutting them up, Gath shot a couple of faintly bothered glances at her as she obediently worked on. Exhaling hopelessly, he looked back at the Redguard like a breastfeeding mother mid-conversation.** "... Long time? Balgruuf's got guts, good man."**

Scales leant all of her admittedly lacking weight against her knife as she struggled to cut into a tricky bit of meat. **"J-Jarl Balgruuf is very kind..."** she spoke up for the first time in ages, glowing red as she often did when she complimented men. The table quivered and trembled with strain as she tried to pierce the stubborn venison. Balgruuf had been incredibly accepting of their circumstances. Having heard the stories of Windhelm and its treatment of Mer and Argonians, she was glad that Whiterun was so different. **"He's so **_**respectful**_**..."**

_Was this the same Balgruuf?_

The scarred nomad couldn't believe that she was talking about the same Jarl, considering how bitter and blunt he'd been to both him and Wonders during their sole encounter. All they'd done was pry for money, insult his Housecarls, indirectly injure a couple of the city's guard and in the case of the mage politely ask him to have sex with himself. So what?

With the last of the venison drawn and quartered into symmetrical pieces, Scales speared a cube and offered it to Gath. In ordinary circumstances it would be rather cute to see, but these weren't ordinary circumstances at all. **"Sweet pea?"** Gath exhaled, a faint sense of despair about him. He held onto her hand firmly, trying to pry the fork from her grip. **"Yer food's getting' cold."**

She tugged back at him gently. Despite the fruitlessness of her efforts, it was the message that counted. **"D-Don't be silly, let me..."**

**"Yer know I'm fine." **Gath reminded, holding her balled fingers still. He was grateful for her concern, but he didn't need to be babysat. **"I can 'old an'axe, I can 'old a fork."**

At last Gath managed to yank the fork and knife away from her clutches, albeit with the gentility that he always possessed in the presence of the shy woman. Surrendering to his persistence Scales timidly turned to her food, although she refused to scoot away from the orc's side. As Gath began to take clumsy and noisy bites of food, Stradlater took that as the go ahead to at last begin munching on his own meal.

While Gath seemed to be well educated when it came to being a gentleman, he must've skipped the majority of his classes when it came to etiquette at the dinner table. He chewed wetly and loudly in an unappealing way, 'less you had a very specific set of fetishes. Still the food was delicious. For some reason meals that were made just for you for no cost always seemed to taste a lot nicer, and it'd been years since Stradlater had eaten food that wasn't freshly undercooked on a campfire or thrown in with the lot at a tavern. He savoured every morsel. **"This is **_**delicious**_**."** he praised, trying to find a way to lick his own tongue. Eventually realising how corny he sounded, he looked up at the chef with his fork still jammed his gob. **"I'm not just saying that either."**

The broad shouldered orc grinned at his joy, his teeth covered in gravy and meat. **"The secret ingredient's passion."** he said mystically, chuckling dryly. **"Sweet pea always gives 'er hundred percent."**

Gath fumbled for a drink with his fork between his fingers, seemingly stopping mid sentence much to Stradlater confusion. His fingers continued to pinch at it unsuccessfully like the pincers of a mudcrab, until a well-intentioned Scales plucked the cup from the table top, held onto his knuckles and gently placed it in his hands. His ears twitched with irritation and humiliation, yet ignoring such insecurity he began to sip. As he slurped loudly like a fish on the feed, he didn't even notice the vast majority of the cup's contents cascading down his front. Scales gasped, her chair squealing. **"**_**Gath**_**!"**

The slurping stopped. **"Wuh? What?"** the addressed orc mumbled absently, lowering his drink in confusion. As the ale pooled at his lap, he at last realised his mistake. He snickered, clumsily tugging at his napkin-cum-cravat. **"Awww, hehheh..."**

Urgently Scales rose to her feet, barely standing a head taller than the seated Gath if you wanted to get metaphorical. **"I told you not to do that..."** she sighed awkwardly, her concern for the elder orc knowing no bounds. Reaching for her own napkin she crouched by his side, **"Y-You're all wet now."**

Gath pouted with guilt, disappointed in himself for screwing up and for making Scales unhappy too. Turning to Stradlater, he raised his chin in understanding**. "Sorry 'bout that, Red. This ol' orc'll go wash right up."** Scales stumbled back awkwardly as Gath rose to his feet, dusting down his lap and urging her to not worry. **"I'm fine, I'm fine, yer **_**know**_** I'm fine." **he repeated like a foolish lullaby, patting at the side of her snout and rubbing at its scales affectionately. If that did anything to settle her nerves, their guest couldn't tell. **"Don't leave Red all lonely now, eh?"**

Under the watching eyes of the worried Scales and the indifferent Stradlater, Gath wandered off to what he assumed was the house's bathroom door. He bumped into it clumsily, nudging and pushing at it a few times in mild confusion. Scales raised her voice a decibel, **"I-It's a pull, Gath!"**

As soon as the last word left her non-existent lips, Gath tugged at the door and hey presto it parted. He raised a thumb in success, before slipping in quietly and letting the gate settle shut in his wake. Scales bowed her head forlornly for quite some time, before drawing out her napkin once more and beginning to tend to the stains and mess that the orc had left behind. She scrubbed and she rubbed for a few moments, only to freeze mid-clean in realisation. Stradlater was staring at her with an expression best described as "_seriously confused_", clearly worried about the happenings.

Staring at him yet not turning her head she continued to scrub at the same spot furiously, her gaze low and submissive. **"... I'm sorry, I must be bothering you."**

"**What?"** Stradlater murmured, shaking his head. She always seemed to take responsibility for things that weren't in any way her fault. It was almost a tad bit coy rather than alluring at times. He'd fought all sorts of beasts and faced moreso in burdens in his lifetime. This was nothing. **"Oh no, doesn't particularly bother me."**

_He was more bothered by the axe, which was still stuck in his head._

At last she stopped working, scrunching the napkin between her fingers like the cap of a farmer as he appealed to a Jarl for money. She reflected on the dinner, and how alien Gath and she must've seemed to the Redguard. Or to anyone else, for that matter. **"...I shouldn't tell anyone this..."** she began, blinking wetly. Her mystical eyes didn't turn to face him but rather her entire head did for once, letting him bask in the glory of her magical gaze. **"... B-But I trust you, sir."**

_One maid to another._

**"Don't tell me anything you'll regret." **Stradlater warned, not particularly eager to be part of something that would bear severe consequences.

Scales genuinely appreciated his concern, yet quickly shook her head. Stradlater deserved to know. She was tired of keeping the truth under wraps all the time. **"Gath... Wasn't always like this."** she noted, revelling in times long gone. **"But some things happened, and... Well... H-He got hurt."**

Stradlater stared into the rising steam of his meal, having no trouble imagining the beard of axe lodged in the old timer Orsimer's skull. That image hadn't left his mind since he'd arrived, in case you couldn't tell. He'd heard the stories of the effects that head wounds could have. Some people honestly preferred the greater chance of death to the smaller chance of permanent brain damage.

_Few minds survived intact._

Scales was already having second thoughts about her revelations, wondering if it was genuinely right for her to drag the Redguard into her own sphere. Yet even then she couldn't stop her heart, which continued to bear its pain. **"He hurt himself to protect **_**me**_**."** she admitted, taking the blame for the injury he had sustained. He'd given her so much; a roof, protection, his friendship. **"I've taken so much from him, and it's only..."** her nostrils flared. **"O-Only right that I make it up to him."**

_To tend to her deliverer._

To say that he felt awkward in the air of the room would be an understatement, all sorts of questionings flowering along the groves of other thoughts that had already been waiting patiently in line since his arrival at the _Blueview_. Trying to break through the peculiarity of the atmosphere, he commented on her cooking once more.

**"Your cooking is just..."** he pursed his lips and closed his eye tightly, whistling with comical enthusiasm like a raffle presenter. **"You should teach me some time."**

Even with the doom and gloom about her, Scales couldn't help but smile - just a little - at the funny face Stradlater was pulling. **"Mmhmm."** she agreed, nodding clearly. To be perfectly honest she looked forward to the chance. It would be _fun_. **"**_**Okay**_**."**

With that the silence returned, unannounced as it tended to be save for the occasional clink of Stradlater's fork against his dish. There honestly wasn't much else to say. The Redguard was comfortable with munching away at his meal, while the Argonian was more eager to clean than do anything else. It was as if both were on standby, waiting for the subject of interest to appear once more.

Eventually Gath returned much to the pair's relief, mostly dabbed down yet still as scruffy looking as he tended to be. **"Hope ye didn't miss me!" **he snickered enthusiastically, tapping at the blunt points of his elongated canines. The tip of one had been chipped at some point upon further examination, adding to his barbaric appearance. Noticing the silence in the air, he folded his arms and frowned. **"What? Did someone go an' die when I was gone? **_**Heh**_**."**

With that said Gath returned to his chair and sunk back into its welcome embrace, drawing his dirk-gripped fork once more and gnawing away at the venison before him. The other two residents of the dinner table watched in total silence, Scales in particularly maintaining her parental stare. Her food remained undisturbed, practically frozen over time. She intended to eat it later, after she felt that her work was done for the night.

Soon enough a loud exhale came from Gath as he announced that he was finished, patting his stomach with comical enthusiasm.** "**_**Hooo**_**! 'don't know 'bout ye, but that filled me right up."** he cooed, glancing at the Redguard as if searching for agreement. He neatly put his knife and fork together atop the plate, his gullet lacking the strength to take any more. **"Thank ye very much, sweet pea."** Gath praised the Argonian, who bowed her head in a classic 'I'm not worthy' fashion. Like a man and his dog, which was an image Stradlater didn't particularly want to imagine, the orc scratched at her chin affectionately before patting the table gently to grab his fellow veteran's attention. **"Red, better come with me."**

Perking up at his summon, Stradlater grabbed his plate and clattered it atop Gath's for collection. Scales clutched onto the pile too, feebly tugging at it but to no avail. All this did was confuse the wanderer, who tilted his head without the fitting "_aroo_?". **"I'll help."** he offered, the dishes clattering atop one-another. **"There's a lot to clean up."**

Scales was having none of that, **"I-I'll be fine."**

Gath tugged at Strad's shoulder in that rough and painful way that men saved for one-another under the guise of being "_friendly_", pulling him away and patting his back as they walked from the kitchen towards the living room. **"Just let her be, Red."** he advised, the clatter of pottery continuing as Scales quietly got to work.

**"Women, eh? They're always right, if ye ask me." **he noted, taking a brief pause to think before opening the correct door to the living room. As the portal fell shut behind them he let off a loud and over-the-top grumble. **"**_**Ooo**_**... Gonna take **_**days**_** to walk that off!"**

**"Is she always like that?"** Stradlater asked, standing by the doorway as Gath shuffled towards his displaced workbench.

**"Oh yeah."** he confirmed, crooning over and hooking the pair of boots that he'd been working on between his fingers. He swung them over his shoulder like an artisan's scarf, picking up his chisel with less flourish. **"You an' I're **_**men**_**, we don't know what we're doin'!"**

The guest watched on as Gath made for the front door. Either he was confusing himself again, or he aimed to go visit someplace. He made his thoughts known. **"Are you going somewhere?"**

**"Are **_**we**_** goin' somewhere?"** he corrected goofily a la Silent-He-Wonders, tossing him the chisel without warning. Stradlater barely had the time to catch it, the sharp-missile inches away from giving him a double lobotomy. **"Yeah. This's fer the forge, need to give it back. Might as well go fer a walk while the missus is doin' her thing, you know?"** he droned on, missing the sweating and relieved-looking Redguard. Cupping his lips with his sausage fingers, the orc bellowed loudly. **"Sweet pea! Red an' I're just gonna go down the street, won't be long!"**

For the first time ever, at least in Stradlater's experience, Scales shouted to be heard across the house. Even then she somehow managed to sound gentle and restrained, sounding less like a yell and more like she'd simply moved a bit closer. **"K-Keep him safe!"**

Gath smirked at her innocent words, nudging the door open with a single prod of his manly shoulder. The pair stepped out in unison, yet the orc quickly marched forward to stand in the cold street without even bothering to close the door in his wake.

Stradlater pushed it shut for him as he basked in the chill, leaning against the oak in thought.

_"Keep him safe"?_

The Redguard called out to the orc. **"... You or me?"**

X

_(A/N): DUN DUN DUUUUUN._

_... Don't know what that was for, but there you have Chapter 2! Looks like the story behind Gath and Scales is a tad bit deeper than it seems. I wonder what the tale behind his injury and state of mind is?_

_... Totally not hinting towards what's gonna happen in the final chapter ._

_By the way, there's still an axe in his head._


	3. The Long Walk

**(A/N):** Well here it is, after an awkward hiatus between additional hiatus... Hiatusii?

Following a rather disastrous dinner that would put one of my own stir fry-ups to shame, Stradlater finds himself wandering the streets of Whiterun alone with the peculiar and slightly unhinged husband of Soft-Her-Scales.

However, it's clear that questions are weighing on his mind in the wake of the day's events. And it's not like they'll be answered at any point in this finale... Not at all!

You can tell I'm not particularly good at writing these A/Ns, let alone writing in general! Let's just get on with it before I mess this up any further!

**WARNING:** Spelling errors, mildly inappropriate language, bad jokes, a notable lack of Silent-He-Wonders, too much stuttering, bad attempts at writing strong accents, awkward drama, a moral that goes all over the place, and a whole BARREL of exposition!

**Chapter Three: The Long Walk**

He saw fire.

Flickering flames dancing with tempered elegance, their burning amber casting shadows upon the darkness like a formless pantomime deprived of any meaning unless you were the sort who discussed music and interpretive art forms over chilled wine unironically.

The Redguard wasn't particularly fond of fire. Maybe it was something deep-seated and primal within him, but he was never too keen to turn his back on the most destructive and unpredictable element in the known world. Yet it seemed the Nords of Skyrim were the sort who longed to flip off the Eight or Nine or whatever it was at the moment, for there were torches absolutely _everywhere_. You could barely tell it was even night.

_Gods, how he hated fire._

_What good had it ever done him?_

Gath let out a long, overly enthusiastic "_Oooo_!" as his glazed and slightly deranged eyes basked in the glorious light of the tamed flames. No doubt he didn't share the singed Stradlater's tribulations, the choreography before him making him all giddy and excited like a young boy on his birthday receiving a suspiciously distinct war-axe shaped parcel. He wasn't too far off from frantically clapping his hands in fact.

You'd never see such expansive displays back at the Orcish holds of High Rock. The orc had strived to gaze out onto the streets of Whiterun every night since he had taken residence to observe and hold his jaw before the fantastic ranks of torches and lanterns. To him they were a symbol of perseverance, vigilance and pride.

_Because Whiterun would never sleep._

**"Nuthin' more pretty than a city at night."** Gath chimed, just needing a whimsical sigh and a couple of plats in his lacklustre locks to look like an only daughter lusting after the local Chad. He shot a trusting glance at his partner for the evening. **"Save fer **_**you know who**_**, of course."**

Stradlater smiled that highly punchable smile of his, hanging his head in mock appreciation**. "I'm **_**flattered**_**."** he checked his rear flank conspiratorially, **"... Not a word to the wife?"**

Gath, in turn, grinned that slightly less punchable grin of his own, conveying amusement and irritation in one fell swoop that would confuse all but the most talented caricaturists of Tamriel. He tossed the boots about in his hand like the sharpened stones of a schoolyard bully - up and down, up and down - just to remind him that he could quite easily turn the pair into a rafter nifty and convenient bludgeon at a moment's notice.

**"Sweet pea dun like the torches."** Gath said, his large tusks clinking against parallel enamel. He seemed to reminisce in times not too long gone, almost gaining a peculiar forlornity about him. He returned to his admiration, **"Says they keep 'er awake."**

The Redguard nodded understandingly, not entirely sure of what he was trying to understand in the first place. People often made comments that couldn't really be responded to, and it was the perfect catalyst to an already awkward conversation. Regardless the orc seemed pleased enough, swinging the boots by the length of their knotted laces. **"Thatta way!"** he growled gutturally, swinging them some more and marching forward like a warrior monk with one of his monkey gadgets. **"The quest begins!"**

Eagerly the orc began to machete through the urban undergrowth with his makeshift set of flails, conducting himself like a fire dancer prancing about the street. Stradlater pursued with a lowered head and hunched shoulders, feeling like an inept pet handler while his dog was taking an overly long piss. **"A bit cold out here." **he noted, doing his best to snuggle up within his cloak. There were plenty of disadvantages to flashing your biceps like a cheap working boy everywhere you went, that was for certain. Why did he think that having no sleeves would be a good idea up north?** "Never could get used to the chill."**

Gath mixed in a couple of _entirely_ necessary twirls into his interpretative dance number. **"Yer!"** he replied eventually, narrowly dodging a swift boot to the dome. Either he lacked fear or was a total fool, although to be fair both cases were practically identical. **"Colder... Than wunna them Ice Wraiths 'round 'ere!"**

Stradlater decided to do Nirn a favour and expertly caught one of the errant boots by its heel, holding back the urge to squeal as pain shot through his wrist. **"**_**Stop**_** that."** he snapped like a ratty mother, his mantle and hood only managing to emphasise that image. The second boot followed its cousin in due course, ending up nestled under the Redguard's arm. **"Before someone sees you."**

The orc let off a long, drawn out groan. **"**_**Awww**_**."** he literally said, stomping his foot clumsily. He stared at his stolen toy sadly, wondering if the pair of shoes shared his opinion on the sheer depravity and oppression of the ongoing situation. **"I was 'avin fun!"**

He waggled his finger beratingly, furrowing his brow and wrinkling his forehead. **"Don't make me turn us around!"** he threatened, spotting a pair of wobbly shadows and the silhouettes that cast them making their way towards them. Thankful for his timing, he nodded at the men as they came into focus. It was a pair of guards on a slow, waltzing patrol.** "Evening."**

Either they hadn't heard him or couldn't bother to return the courtesy, their flimsy, wafer-thin helmets all but deafening them to the common tongue. They quickly proved that it was the latter, as one spoke to his colleague with intrigue in his tone. **"Is it evening or morning?"**

Guard number two, obviously the straight man of the duo, glanced at the blackened sky with his lack of interest visible even through his skull-tight mask. **"At what point does it change?"** he humoured the other man, holding onto his belt all authoritative like.** "You know what time it is, Kyth?"**

**"It's a time of social unrest, roaming evil, gruelling pain and endless suffering. But also a time of learning and reflection, as the dragons return, the Dragonborn comes and the fate of the **_**world**_** hangs in the balance." **the guard called Kyth suddenly spouted, the pair continuing to wander past the strange Orsimer and Redguard that were wandering the dead streets at night for no apparent reason, armed with a vicious scimitar and a pair of boots. **"It's enough to make one weep."**

_"The security in Whiterun is terrible. Shameful is what it is!"_

_That regular at the Mare wasn't kidding._

They stopped for a moment, the gushing waterways of the city gutter mimicking the crashing waves of a waterfall in the silence. The straight guy sounded slightly irritated, as if this was something he was used to dealing with on a daily basis. **"... Have you been on that Skooma-Brew Mead again?"** he inquired. They renewed their steps, their voices fading away in the distance. **"This is probably why no one talks to us."**

With that entirely unexpected and equally unnecessary deviation dealt with, Gath and Stradlater exchanged a few raised eyebrows before returning to their own journey. They didn't encounter any other guards on the beaten path, the peculiar emptiness of the road being somewhat upsetting to the Redguard's temperament.

**"So how do you earn your daily bread?"** Stradlater tried to fill the void, the sound of the never-ending torrent of sewage and discarded junk ruthlessly picking at his peace of mind. Gath's pointed ears perked up in that weird way only Mer could manage. **"Are you a bouncer at the **_**Mare**_** or something?"**

Gath waved his hand about negatively, **"Nah, they dun' need no bouncer."** he said, sounding as if it was obvious that this were the case. **"Got enough regulars, an' they do it fer free!"** he snickered to himself, licking his lower lip and his lower lip alone. The silence returned at a peculiar moment, as his eyes started to dart in that unsettling and deranged manner of his. He eventually admitted the truth, like a boy who'd wet the bed in the night. **"Dun 'av a job."**

Stradlater was confused by that. The life of a mercenary cum adventurer was certainly filled with grotesque monstrosities, daedric abominations, smelly bandits that made the former and latter look like models from the _Peppermint Spriggan _brothel, and when the stars aligned the _occasional_ cave of cash and calamity. But even someone of his clearly risqué and daring disposition had enough trouble paying the bills. And he didn't even have a home! **"You can't live off Scales' wage alone, can you?"**

**"I do odds an' sods." **he added, hoping it was enough to justify his persistent state of formal unemployment. The missus was adamant that he stay at home in case he hurt himself, but to be perfectly honest there were plenty of other reasons why no one would hire him. **"Adrianne Av-an-itchy gives me 'em, lets me fix 'em fer cash."**

Now he'd heard a lot of strange pronunciations for names through the years. His name was _Stradlater_ for the Pantheon's sake; do you know how many people in Skyrim could butcher something with more than one syllable? You'd be surprised and mildly disappointed with humanity, that's for certain.

_Straddle-At-Her was his favourite one._

But still, Av-An-Itchy?

_'Av an itchy?_

_Have _an_ itchy?_

He held back the urge to roll on the floor for a bit, for the sake of Soft-Her-Scales and his threads, which were ragged and worn enough already. Trying to remember where the conversation had left off, he weighed the boots and brought them to muster. **"That's what these are fer?"** Stradlater asked, taking a long moment to correct the slip that had suitably slipped in unawares. **"... **_**For**_**?"**

**"Yer." **was his answer, blunter than the blade lodged in his skull. **"She don't need me, but lets me anyway. Good, strong woman. Like an orc. I like 'er."**

"_Strong woman_" was correct indeed. You couldn't find teenage boys after the first year of puberty with stronger right arms than her. _Warmaidens_ never seemed to lose the headstrong Imperial blacksmith - its very own war maiden - that hammered away at steel on its doorstep day in and day out. You could still hear the distant ring of her anvil at that very moment. It almost seemed to merge with the ambience of the hold.

**"You've got that right."** Stradlater agreed, borrowing his eyes. **"She's definitely got the **_**look**_** of an orc."**

The orc snickered louder than he did to be honest. He raised a thick sausage finger to his lip, before picking at the ancient gunk under his nails with the point of a curved tusk. **"No snitchin'."**

**"Gods be **_**praised**_**."** Stradlater exhaled, doing his best to ignore the muck and filth that now sat glaringly on the ends of the old soldier's teeth. The smithy was just adjacent of the _Blueview_, right next to the front gate of the city. Either Gath had purposefully dragged him around the keep for a chat, or he really was just as confused as he looked. **"... Scales is worried about you, you know."**

**"Yer, she does."** Gath nodded, seemingly missing the tense of the Redguard's words. He continued to walk, circling a fountain with his companion in tow for what must've been the fourth time in as many minutes. **"Such a sweet pea, my sweet pea. Always worryin' fer everyone."**

_Well, save for herself._

The Redguard's sandals scraped across the pavement as he stopped walking. **"That axe."** he pointed out bluntly, trying to pull the orc back into reality for just a moment. It wiggled on Gath's brow as he turned his head back, doing his best to embrace his inner owl. **"Didn't do your mind any favours, did it."**

Feeling as if his front was flawless, Gath sighed in defeat. **"Sweet pea..."** he exhaled with the sort of restrained irritation you tended to save for kittens, assuming that she'd told him about the state of his mind. After a moment's hesitation he waved his hand at a metaphorical fly, dismissing the entire topic. **"... Don't worry 'bout ol' me."**

**"I'm not worried about you. You can take care of yourself, that's for sure."** Stradlater growled gravely, watching the orc as he sauntered around to face him. His words had sounded much ruder than he'd intended, and he wondered if Gath had taken offence. He was glad he had his sword on him, that's for sure. **"I'm worried about **_**her**_**. Can't you see what it's doing to her?"**

Half of Gath's mouth curled into a smug smirk, like he'd just contracted a case of palsy and he'd seen quads on his benefits cheque. **"**_**I **_**love her."** he pointed out, putting peculiar emphasis on the "_I_". The orc leant towards the man he dwarfed, his mighty spine like a crane as he looked into the Redguard's milky blind eye. **"... An' yer wanna know somethin'?" **he asked what Stradlater assumed was rhetorically. **"... She dun' **_**love**_** me."**

The nomad rose his chin curiously, listening intently to the words that Gath had to say. He was no telepath, but somehow he could tell that this wasn't just him having a moody moment. This was him telling _facts_. Stradlater wanted him to set the scene straight, **"... Tell me."**

**"I wanna be 'er husband. I wan' us to be happy together."** Gath admitted without a moment's hesitation, perfectly happy to spout out his feelings regardless of who was all ears. Pacing towards the fountain he began to examine its edges and crannies, as if he was looking for loose change or secret passages leading to loot and plunder. **"... But I ain't a lover t'her. Never 'av been." **he continued, gritting his teeth in thought. It tended to hurt to reflect on the truth. He liked living in a lie. He leant against the fountain's lip,** "Sweet pea thinks she's me **_**servant**_**."**

**"Why's that?"** Stradlater urged him to continue, looking mature and spotless with his legs spread apart and his arms folded. Strip him naked and scrub him clean and you would probably have artists from as far as Cyrodiil lining up to paint fig leaves on his crotch.**"You look like husband and wife to me."**

**"A senile ol' orc who's **_**always**_** confused." **Gath pointed at his chest as he described himself, before giving the fountain one more pat down. You could practically _hear_ the smirk on his lips, that's how loud it was. **"Most of the time it looks like that t'me too. Makes me **_**happy**_**."** he abruptly stopped searching, snarling grumpily as he wobbled back to his feet. Wrestling control over his eyes once more, they eventually rolled over and found Stradlater. He pointed at the fountain like he was blaming it for breaking a vase. **"... Why don't this city 'av benches?"**

Valid question, although he had no answers - nor sleeves. Stradlater simply shrugged his shoulders. **"Vagrants?"**

Gath leant against the fountain's rim, using it in place of the seat he desperately longed for**. "I guess yer gotta hear it." **he sighed, fidgeting on the edge of the bowl uncomfortably. He clicked his back to a rather funky beat, his hands clutching onto his knees. **"Only way you'd understand."**

The Redguard kept his arms tied tight, doing his best to suppress his shivers. He didn't even have the pleasure of having hair on his arms to cling to. That'd all been seared away long ago. **"I won't tell a soul."**

_He owed him the same._

Gath, with a nod of trust and appreciation, began his tale. **"When I left me home Ushar, I wen' east. Quicker t'go down High Rock than up it after all."** he said, doing his best to focus. **"Stayed off the roads most'f the time. Didn't wanna cause a ruckus or somethin'. Really starts t'hurt yer feet after a while though, y'know? So one day I tried the roads."** this was the part where he'd sip at a flagon, but he hadn't one at hand. **"Roads 'round the highlands are nice'n'quiet, nuthin' like Whiterun."**

Stradlater could've sworn the guards were steering clear of them, sticking to the walkways that spiralled the city as the tale was told. When he'd crossed into Skyrim from Hammerfell many years ago he'd ventured north from Skaven through the passage that cut through the rugged Dragontail Mountains. There weren't any real roads across it, save for a couple of beaten paths formed by nature rather than man. He wondered what it was like to instead take the journey from High Rock, trekking through the Reach's many fields and meadows.

The orc could remember it like it was yesterday**. "When I met my sweet pea, it weren't very... **_**Romantic**_**." **he scowled. His eyes, which had been fixed onto nothingness, locked onto Stradlater's once more. **"It were a cold, dark evenin'..."** he recalled**. "An' she were naked."**

He flinched. In most cases he and Wonders would've shared a cheeky snicker and a few jokes at the woman's expense, but he wasn't here right now, and the air was ripe with a bitter reality to it. It was one of those things you never thought would happen to someone you knew.

Something akin to bloodlust hung in Gath's eyes. **"Pair've Dark Elves 'ad 'er all chained up. She were a slave girl with no strength t'work with... But a body t'sell." **he didn't even frown, his lips stretched tight and straight over his teeth. She'd been so feeble and helpless, knelt over on the ground, manacled and collared just tight enough to torment her with agony and shame. **"I still remember 'er eyes... Dim, no hope left..."**

_Had she even known hope?_

**"'course not many men would wanna buy an Argonian. They call 'em "**_**frogs**_**" or somethin' y'know, dun like 'em do they?"** he noted incorrectly, forgetting the derogatory terms that man and mer loved to spout at the Marshmen's expense. His lips finally rose, showing his teeth born for battle. "**They was Slave traders. 'pparently they was a pair lurkin' 'bout, and they was lookin' to sell. Were desperate."** he said. **"So why not try a dim, oafish orc? Why, so far from home we was practically cousins."**

The slave trade had always been a lucrative, if amoral business. Back home in Sentinel Stradlater had known an ex-slaver called Hakim who often frequented his favourite watering hole, and he'd occasionally share some of his stories if he was drunk enough. He said of all the jobs on Nirn there was no other that drained your humanity faster than the trade, and that either you embraced and accepted the fact and let it warp you into a monster, or fell into a spiral of depression and despair at how low you'd stooped.

_And Hakim never seemed to be truly sober._

Hakim had felt like he'd thrown his honour and decency into the gutter for turning to slavery when times were harsh for him, selling his fellow brothers like meat dangling from hooks. Yet thankfully to the Dunmer of Morrowind the Argonians were nothing more than animals. To the thousands of Dark Elf slave runners that dotted Tamriel, it was a perfectly healthy job to ferry lizards on the side. It was practically akin to opening a rickety stall at the town market selling crème treats and teddy bears.

**"Bought 'er from 'em. Cost all me gold, all me armour, an' one of me axes, but I bought 'er from 'em. T'save 'er." **Gath suddenly began to snicker, remembering their arrogant faces and the fake smiles he'd shared with them amidst a chorus of chuckles and a shaking of hands. The Dark Elves _legitimately_ thought that he was too stupid to talk to her, let alone befriend her. **"They thought I'd go an' eat 'er!"**

**"Took a long time t'get her t'talk. She'd been taught to never talk since she were small, yer 'see. Don't want talkin' slaves, do they?" **he asked, rhetorically for sure this time. Of course they didn't want talkative slaves. They wanted to take away everything that made people people. Having them stay silent perpetually made it all the easier to see them as nothing more than feral creatures. **"Her body were so soft'n'smooth..." **Gath's flexed his digits, plucking at invisible limbs. Her green scales had always felt silky under his palms. Their smoothness could put the greatest of Imperial courtesans to shame. **"They'd beated her so much her scales could never get rough."**

_Soft-Her-Scales._

_A sadistic name indeed._

Gath fidgeted against the rim, his backside becoming increasingly numb. **"Her sisters an' mother were still in Solstheim. Don't even have the comfort of knowin' they're dead or not."**

Stradlater winced as if an inexplicable pain had just shot through his left testicle. Thoughts came back to Hakim, that expression of regret and self-loathing forever plastered on his face and clouding his mind for all eternity. He'd told him a whole bunch about his trade, but even he couldn't bear to explain the conditions that slaves were often housed in. To think that the people she'd grown alongside could still be in such squalor, their cries muted to the rest of the world.

_Sometimes you just wanted to forget._

_Not that their faces could ever leave you._

Gath's teeth flicked together a few times, dislodging the matted gunk that he'd left on their tips and sending it careening towards the fountain's bowl. Rest assured, it'd take more than a couple of healers to decontaminate the thing. **"Couldn't bring meself to leave her. She were a slave girl, far from home... So I brought 'er with me. It'd be good t'have someone t'speak to. No one can walk the road alone forever."** he droned on. His absent stare found focus for a moment, decoding the blur that Stradlater had become for what must've been the ninth time that evening. Just how long had the Redguard been alone after whatever had happened to him forced him to leave Hammerfell behind? **"I wanted t'be 'er friend, but I'd bought 'er... Saved 'er... I weren't 'er friend. I was 'er **_**owner**_**, and she wanted t'serve me."**

Stradlater had noticed his stare but took nothing of it. Not that he could. He was too busy thinking of the barmaid to consider anything else to be honest. It all made perfect sense and connected together, but it was something so distant and out of the ordinary that he was having trouble processing it all. He'd always thought she was just shy and timid by nature, but this was what had caused it all? Black hearted enslavement, constant beatings, and separation from those few who you knew?

_It was barbaric._

_And this was coming from a man who murdered for a living._

**"We kept goin' east, east, east to Whiterun... 'cept them elves were trackin' us weren't they? Turns out they found a perv, an' a rich one too."** Gath either smirked or grimaced. You could never quite tell with him, the nomad was beginning to realise. **"After a few days they come up to us an' said "**_**we're gonna take 'er from ye**_**", an' I said "**_**over me dead body**_**!". Fought them both an' scared thems off."**

For some peculiar reason he couldn't quite explain, he felt "_scared them off_" was another way of saying _"bludgeoned them within an inch of their lives with their own legs_". Slavers weren't fat podgers or cowards or anything like adventure novels often portrayed them. They tended to be from the mercenary crowd; veterans and the like looking for a higher standard of living. Stradlater would've found it challenging enough to take one toe to toe even before his "_impairment_", yet to take on two at once? The orc must've been a master.

It'd been a long time since Gath had been in a good fight. It was certainly fun throwing the smug gits around a bit. **"Gave me back me axe too."** he nodded, pointing at the hunk of iron that was comfortably nestled in his skull. It certainly wasn't a grimace now, it was a smug grin of self satisfaction**. "Don't stop an angry orc though." **the smirk faded in an instant. **"'course I was beat up... Got a bit dizzy, fell down... Sweet pea was so scared, kept sayin' "**_**I failed, I failed!**_**"... Kept cryin' me name..."** he loudly slurped as he lapped at his lips. He'd taken far much more than just an axe to the head, and it was clear. He may've learned to tolerate pain during his time at home fighting with his brothers and rolling about in the mud, but that didn't change the fact that damage was damage. A brave face and a proud exterior doesn't change the facts.

He'd survived though, hadn't he?

**"Was that voice that kept me goin'."** he admitted, bowing his head.

Stradlater clutched onto his elbows, closing his eyes in shared understanding.

**"... An' a man in a mask."**

Stradlater's ever raised eyebrow was frozen in place with intrigue. He was honestly enticed by this tale, but that didn't change the fact that it was being told by an old person. Old people can make the Battle for Kvatch sound like a visit to the bakers on a Middas mid day. It was a requirement in the transition from your middle-ages to pensioner status.

He could remember that angular mask looming over him as his sight returned. A dull grey of fashioned stone, the content if not judging face of some sort of holy martyr carved into its front with black sockets where the man could stare through. His gloves were smooth and refined, not a single crease along their palms and knuckles. He was a man of faith, and it appeared that his God felt charitable.

**"He were one of them **_**Paladins**_** I reckon, said the people call 'im "**_**The Man of Burgundy**_**"."** he returned to his story, wondering how long his intermission had taken. **"He patched me up right quick, but he said "**_**Sorry, but I can't save all of ye**_**". Brought us the rest've the way with 'is bodyguard's 'elp - big Nord fella - and then left fer Solitude." **Gath snickered as he remembered the peculiar pair that had escorted him and his sweet pea the last few legs of the journey. The Nord was probably the only man in the whole continent who matched his height, and he had the warrior heart he loved to see in the young. **"Said he was on some "**_**pillgrummage**_**" or sumthin' to "**_**cleanse 'is mind'n'body**_**", and he took a detour fer us. Good man, I told 'im!"**

The orc pushed away from the fountain, a large imprint left along his left and right cheeks. **"That was a while ago now, and it's gettin' worse and worse."** he frowned forlornly, escaping from the good old days and returning to the reality of it all. **"I keep forgettin'... Me body locks up..."** he trailed off for a moment. It would've been quite ironic in a dark way if he'd forgotten what he was saying, but he picked up again in a few moments. **"Think I'll forget yer lovely face in three winters. Sweet pea's in four... Mine in five or six."**

Stradlater didn't quite know what he should say. The future looked bleak no matter how you saw it, and there was absolutely no way they could change it. They were all powerless. **"... That's terrible."**

Gath examined his expression for a moment, only to break out into an absent minded guffaw. **"Ye dun't say? **_**Hehheh**_**." **he shouldered past him in the friendly manner only teenagers can really pull off, grabbing hold of the ironclad greaves that Stradlater had been hoisting and ferrying them under his arm for a change. **"I just dun' want me Sweet Pea to worry fer me, ye know? Sweet Pea's a clever gurl, an' I'm holdin' 'er back." **he began to walk away, moving up one of Whiterun's many flights of god damned stairs. **"If it weren't fer me, what would she be?"**

The Redguard shook his head at the orc, mumbling to himself quietly. **"A **_**slave**_**."** Gath was putting himself down far too much, and Stradlater was more than sure that he wasn't the overwhelming burden he thought he was. He whistled loudly to grab the green bloke's attention, stirring a few dogs into a barking frenzy much to his chagrin. **"**_**Warmaidens**_** is this way."**

Gath followed the burned man's fingers, which pointed in the exact opposite direction down an entirely identical set of - you guessed it - _god damned stairs_. Gath looked back and forth between the two staircases as if they were a boy and his dad playing a lovely game of catch. **"... I know."**

The rest of the journey was uneventful. No doubt the pair were far too busy considering the implications of Gath's tale to really muster any other topic. They reached _Warmaidens_, and there Adrianne was beating at a deformed lump of iron like it owed her money. She didn't really register them outside of the generic murmurs of greeting that strangers often utter to one-another when passing on silent streets, so they quickly dropped off the boots and slunk away awkwardly.

**"So Red."** Gath spoke up as they lurked away from the smithy. He fluffed at what was left of his clumped grey hair, trying his best to make a pose that showed off his aging form. **"Ain't ye gonna walk me home?"**

For once Stradlater was glad that he was wearing his cloak. Without a second's pause he wrapped it around his face, shielding his eyes from the horror and offering the sweet, sweet release of impending suffocation. Eventually he loosened it, making sure his only working eye didn't go blind and regaining his composure. **"That's an excuse if I've ever heard one."** he said in what he assumed was a charming and friendly tone, trying to make some sort of joke. Gath certainly missed it, so he quickly moved on. **"... I-I suppose I should thank Soft-Her-Scales for the meal."**

An exchange of nods was the prelude to yet another shuffling of feet as they made their way back to the Blue View, hands in pockets yet no spring in their steps. Gath seemed deep in thought, which was peculiar because he usually looked three spuds short of a casserole. Instead he was focusing on something, his brow knitted tightly. The Redguard made sure not to interrupt him, guiding the extremely short journey back to the house.

Arriving at the door step he offered a couple of raps at the door, which was followed by the gentle pitter patter of sandaled soles upon fashioned cobble as the young Argonian maid made her best approximation of a leisurely jog and towards the entrance. **"Coming!"** she announced, her frail voice heavily muffled by the thick wooden door. After what sounded like a full legion of bolts including an auxiliary force of reserves in the form of locks were bypassed, she heaved the door open with both hands. Scales spoke from her well-rehearsed script, **"H-Hello! Welcome back!"**

Stradlater smiled gently, keeping his back as straight as possible as he often did in her presence to look tall and confident. He couldn't really hold it however, for it felt peculiar looking at her now with the knowledge of what she'd been through fresh in his mind. She looked at him intensely. Was it that obvious that he felt unsettled? Rest assured, it was heartwarming to see that she'd made it through such trials with her kindness and beauty intact.

A loud and prolonged snort that would make the biggest loogie blush roared from Stradlater's left, temporarily deafening him in one ear. **"**_**Mmmm**_**... Sweet pea, wussat?"** Gath cooed, continuing to sniff at the air like a playful hound eager for dinner. Catching a whiff of the scent he firmly barged past the wanderer, stepping onto the doormat. **"... **_**Honey-nut**_**?"**

Impressed by his investigative skills, the lady's mouth curled into a smile. She bowed her head in a half-nod, sidestepping to give him an easier way in. **"Just one before bed."** she warned,** "... O-Or you might upset your tummy again, Gath..."**

**"Awwww!"** he exhaled affectionately, shoving past the Redguard and double-timing it through the hall. He left a parting gift of a peck on Scales' cheek on the way to the kitchen, the smell thankfully leading the way. He called from across the room, **"Yer such an angel!"**

Scales rubbed her cheek in embarrassment, avoiding Stradlater's gaze as Gath disappeared into the kitchen. After the dust settled and she was sure that her husband was busying himself with his snack, she turned back to face the Archmage's butler. She was staring at his chest rather than his cracked and withered toes. Progress had certainly been made since he left. **"I'll bring him to bed soon, sir..."**

He twitched at the last word. He really wanted her to stop saying that, without a doubt. **"He certainly is energetic."** Stradlater acknowledged, swapping the weight on his feet. Even down below on the porch he was a full head taller than the cutesy girl. **"Kind of like a big green... **_**Puppy**_**."**

She rolled with it, not entirely sure where he'd drawn that comparison from. **"He doesn't worry."** Scales nodded, exhaling loudly. That may've been true, but that didn't mean she wouldn't worry about him. **"... He d-doesn't worry ever."**

**"He's... **_**Old**_**."** Stradlater said in lack of a better word. The orcs were a hardy bunch that had been beaten down time and time again yet still stood tall. Gath wasn't the sort who'd let himself fall into pieces. **"He can take care of himself, Scales."**

That just made her shake her head in denial, part of her denying the claim all together. **"B-But his head!" **she pointed out as if it were fresh information hot off the press. Her index and middle fingers rubbing at her snout, approximating a human holding their mouth in shame.** "... **_**I**_** did that to him..."**

Stradlater raised his eyebrow, feeling his snark coming on like the defence mechanism it was. **"I didn't know you could throw an axe."**

"_Confused_" wouldn't be the right word for her state of mind after that. "_Bewildered_" would be far more appropriate, as her tongue stumbled for a surface to speak from. **"N-No, I..."** she clutched onto the front of her dresss as she often did when she was scared or lost. **"Ummm..."**

_Oh good one, Stradlater._

_What's next, a joke about the death of High King Torygg?_

Desperately he scoured his mind for something inspirational he could say to her. He honestly wanted to make it better for the both of them, but the concerned eyes of Scales - filled with emotion rather than dim as they had been in the past - was what motivated him at this exact moment. He found the question he was looking for. **"... Do you love him?"**

It was a strong word, and a question that needed to be answered carefully. Her shoulders shuddered with tension, almost as if she was having trouble asking _herself_ the question. **"... When we first met, he scared me..."** she admitted, entirely oblivious to Stradlater's knowing of the truth. To be thrown into the icy chill of Skyrim, stripped to the bone and put onto display in all of your shame? When she first saw the orc she was to be sold to, she was _horrified_. **"... B-But he took his time with me. He helped me... **_**Rehabilitate**_**."**

_He was pretty sure that was the longest word she'd ever said._

It must've been a gruelling process between them. A barbaric orc and a petrified Argonian, far away from their respective homes and family. How long did it take her to trust him? _What_ did it take? He listened on. He'd been used as an Agony Aunt by _two_ people today.

While Gath would have paused to work out what he was talking about, Scales merely paused to muster the courage to keep speaking. Her gentle tone was more of a murmur. **"... I-I love him, yes."** she admitted. A surge of confidence came to her, and she looked him in the eye with what must've been pride in her gaze, as if she were announcing something she believed in wholeheartedly to a judging and critical audience. **"... Yes, of **_**course**_**! I..."**

Oh, he believed her. Without a doubt she'd grown to love the man who'd liberated her from the chains of slavery by selling everything he had. Without a doubt their marriage wasn't just a legal process. Without a doubt every kiss and every cuddle and every flirtatious whisper meant the world to her. She wasn't just his minder. **"You want what's best for him."** Stradlater said, his hands finding his pockets. **"You want to keep him safe from the world. From himself."**

**"Gath won't be happy..."** she trailed off, her fingers interlocking amongst one-another with a golden band around its centre acting as the cherry on top. It was her wedding ring. **"Unless **_**I**_** look after him."**

The Redguard shook his head in denial, and for some reason he could already see that deep down she agreed with him. "**He wants you to be there, Scales."** he corrected. **"Not because he needs looking after, but because he **_**loves**_** you."**

Those interlocked fingers fell apart, fiddling and clinking together at the points of her claws. She'd gotten so used to the norm of life in the city after moving to Whiterun that she was afraid to deviate from it. It was foolish to act like she did for so long and she'd known it, but she was simply too terrified to take a risk that could lose him. She would never forgive herself if she hurt him.

_Not again._

His sandals slapped against the pavement as he made a subtle pace forward. She looked so helpless. He had to hold back the urge to throw his arms around her, peck her forehead and offer her cookies. **"Ease your grip on him." **was the advice he gave her. Of course he wasn't the best source of marital advice, but it just seemed right. **"Give him some control for a change. Stop worrying about him all of the time, and I **_**promise**_** you." **his knees bent as he crooned over, making direct eye contact and causing her to reel back shyly. He gave the friendliest, most parental smile he could. **"You won't regret it."**

With some distance between them, she returned to a deep state of thought. Her toes scrunched up within her sandals, as that familiar redness crept into her face.** "I-I wish I was as brave as you were, Sir Stradlater..." **she shuddered with awe, respecting him tremendously for his valour and commitment to her husband's well being. Returning eye contact, she tried to form an approving word or phrase - _"Yes", "Got it", "Yeah", "Yup", "Nei"_ and the like - but the best she could muster was a nod and a restrained mewl of **"Mmm."**

_Not even the full "Mmhmm"._

As they shared a smile of understanding and camaraderie, for the briefest of moments Stradlater's thoughts lingered in the past. He returned to the day that they'd first met months ago, and the childish crush he'd had on her. For a second he honestly wondered what it might've been like in a make believe world where a relationship somehow worked out from that night.

He shook his head, judging his juvenile self. He was just glad to call her a friend, and a close one at that. He hoped she saw him in the same way.

Scales seemed to teeter for balance, although the Redguard quickly realised that she was trying to look at the flickering torches behind him that had cast shadows over his features. **"I-It's late."**

**"Can't tell if it's late or early at this point."** Stradlater smirked, stepping back a few paces to reduce their increasingly awkward proximity to one-another. **"Thank you for the dinner. I haven't had something like it for... A **_**long**_** time."**

Like a master chef before a crowd or a convict at the chopping block, the head came down once more. "**Y-You and the Archmage will always have a home at the **_**Blueview**_**..."** Scales offered her fellow servant. She couldn't help but feel some responsibility for the regular. Her eyelids fluttered in a way best described as "_unbelievably beautiful and endearing_", and she flashed that award winning smile. **"... Friends need to protect eachother."**

Stradlater too seemed to teeter for a moment, but the slightly less vigilant Argonian didn't realise what he'd spotted by her six. He saw Gath in the corridor, the honeynut treat he'd been promised sat in his fist with a bunch of heavy chomps taken out of it. He stood there looking at him respectfully, with almost a glint of pride glowing behind eyes. No doubt he'd been listening to their conversation, where Stradlater had managed to get the message through that Gath wouldn't dare to try. The orc nodded at him, throwing in a playful wink.

Worried about his sleep schedule, Scales began to urge the Redguard to get a move on**. "Come here any time, we can start your cooking lessons!"** she reminded eagerly, remembering how enthusiastic she felt for a chance to share her craft. Having raised her voice excitedly, she deflated into her silence again in embarrassment. **"... I-If you still want to."**

He backpedalled until at last they were neck-and-neck in terms of height, holding onto his blade hilt to look nice and knightly under the torchlight. **"I wish I was as brave as you were, Soft-Her-Scales."** he echoed, bowing one last time with as much flourish and drama as he could muster. Rest assured, he could faintly hear the scribble of feathers on recruitment letters coming from the Bards College in Solitude already. He looked up at her in a way that in any other circumstance would be romantic. **"Wouldn't miss it for the whole of Tamriel."**

With one last exchange of good nights and the closing of the door, which was a feat that required his help and a considerable heap of patience, Stradlater marched away down the comatose main street of Whiterun. The sound of all the locks clicking back into place marked his exit, as his soles clopped against the cobbled paves.

That had felt quite good actually.

_Another happy ending._

X

The front door of the _Bannered Mare_ was near identical to all the other taverns of Skyrim, if not the whole of Tamriel. The wood was chipped all over to resemble the acne ridden face of a farm boy, a couple of bounty pamphlets lay stamped around the centre of it, and lightly painted layers of graffiti spouting nonsense such as "_Altmer Suck_" and "_Romanes eunt domus_" rimmed the doorframe. There also tended to be a couple of knives stuck around the doorknob, often the result of drunken louts trying to break back in after closing time.

Thankfully not much had changed since he'd left. An ear appeared to have lost its owner and sat on the porch in a faint pool of blood, and someone had added an additional message by the tavern's knocker: "_Big Knockers_", accompanied by a pair of crudely drawn iron shields locked in a shield wall formation.

_Or were they a pair of tits?_

Stradlater waited at the door in thought, reflecting on the reasoning behind his little adventure in the first place as he gazed into the pair of circles. He'd been a tad bit unhappy with the sheer stupidity and egotism of Silent-He-Wonders, and had felt that taking a walk might be able to clear his mind. The cloth-eared git also got him slapped up by a couple of offended women by playing a childish prank on him that would've probably earned him the respect of all but two of Whiterun's children.

_"Friends need to protect eachother."_

Scales' words clung to him like the poisonous goo that Chaurus tended to spit on scantily clad adventurers. He and his acquaintance had watched eachother's backs for lord knows how long, in spite of all their overwhelming differences as a warrior from Hammerfell and a mage from Black Marsh. It would've been easier to make a list of what they had in common rather than their difference, because it'd be shorter than a Wood Elf's trousers after they'd shrunk in the wash. Regardless of the aggravation the cheeky, slimy, arrogant, racist, smelly, rage-inducing _bastard_ had caused, it meant nothing to their alliance.

He'd just walk in, say hello, and everything would be back to normal as it should be. As it always was. Tickety-boo.

Squeezing his fist in anticipation, he made sure to dodge the blades of those embedded dirks and fumbled with the knob, which wasn't labelled like the knocker, disappointingly. They must've ran out of chalk.

He entered the _Mare_.

_It was a lot more colourful than he remembered._

The _Mare_ was mostly empty at the moment, its seats all left off kilter as they often were. It was to be expected this late at night, and the Nords weren't exactly ones for tucking in chairs. The tell-tale signs of technicolour yawns were abundant across the walls and floor, but what stood out the most were the current occupants of the main counter by the bar.

Silent-He-Wonders lay on the flat of his back across the countertop, sprawled out like a starfish having an internal debate over the purpose of his existence. By his side a woman clad in light leather armour appeared to be attempting to deftly surround his motionless body with flagons, mugs, candles, and the occasional pile of salt. Her drunken fingers constantly toppled those few that she'd already set up like domino pieces, causing her to curse with mild yet entirely content irritation every single time. She turned around with a squeak and a hiccup to look at Stradlater, almost toppling off her stool in the process.

_It was Faelindra._

The Bosmeri Housecarl stared at him for a moment, as if she were a cleric who'd been caught with her pants down mid-way through a sinful orgy. She blinked a few times, sending liquid sputtering onto the floor like sprinkling rain from her eyelashes.

Then she burst into a mess of goofy guffaws, her trembling body struggling to keep her upright. She actually toppled off her stool after a few seconds of this, flopping onto the floor like a bag of beans. Faelindra continued to laugh as she rolled over onto her back, laying in what Stradlater sincerely hoped was a puddle of stale, urine-smelling lager.

The Bosmeri tried to reach up and tug at Wonder's baggy sleeve, staring at Stradlater as she spoke with a slurred tone. **"He leaves home for a few... Uhhh... **_**Days**_**... And **_**look**_**! **_**Look**_** what happens!" **she giggled, continuing to pull at the unconscious mage's robe. **"... You're right, he... He really, really, **_**really**_**... Really really **_**does**_** look like a slapped arse when he's surprised!"**

Sighing in mild exasperation Stradlater heaved the door shut in his wake, causing all of the knives to clatter onto the pavement like the insides of a storage cupboard after an hour of packing. He whipped off his cloak and slung it over his shoulder, wriggling his nose with contempt.

_You know what they say._

_"Nothing like home sweet home."_

X

_(A/N): That took some time to cobble together!_

_A lot of this was actually done in one big sitting, mainly due to a bit of a rush from me as I try to tie some loose ends before a hiatus. That's right ladies and germs, I intend to stop writing between now and late June as I focus solely on revision!_

_The key word being "Intend"..._

_Regardless, I very much hope that you enjoyed this fic! Providing I don't fail Post 16 and fall into a deep depression, we'll see an interesting continuation from this fic that'll give Wonders and a certain other character time to shine! Until then, good night and godspeed!_


End file.
